


Like Nobody's Watching

by GettinGrimey



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Accidental Stimulation, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bottom Rick Grimes, Cannibalism, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Slow Burn, Smut, Top Negan (Walking Dead), Undercover as Married, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettinGrimey/pseuds/GettinGrimey
Summary: Rick: A 25 year old, straight forward, by-the-book police officer from Atlanta Georgia, living day-to-day to right the wrongs.Negan: A 28 year old, high-spirited asshole who joins the force and becomes a constant stress factor in Rick's life.When asked to work together, can they put their differences aside to stop a serial killer before he strikes again?(Fake Relationship/Pretend Marriage AU)





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

Officer Rick Grimes shifted uncomfortably in his seat, bouncing his eyes between the white-haired man across the desk and the smirking officer leaning casually against the wall.

 

“You want me to do _what_ ? With _him_?”

 

He had been called into Lieutenant Hershel Greene’s office with officer Negan Walker. That alone was enough to have Rick on edge. The two of them have never gotten along. Ever since Negan joined the precinct, he’s done nothing but prove himself to be an immature asshole. Doing anything and everything to get under his skin.

 

Hershel walked over to the file cabinet and pulled out a manilla folder, tossing it on the desk in front of the two men.

 

Rick inspected the photos that had fallen out. “The two murder/suicide cases? What’s that got to do with us?”

 

“That’s just it,” Hershel answered. “There are _three_ cases now, making it highly unlikely that we’re dealing with murder/suicide here.” Hershel tossed a third gruesome photo of two more victims on top of the file.

 

“Gentlemen, we’ve got us a serial killer. Each case has the exact same structure. The victims were all from Atlanta, and they were all gay married couples. All men in their late twenties and early thirties.”

 

Rick looked at Negan just as Negan looked at him, Rick already shaking his head. They were putting the pieces together. Hershel wanted to use them as live bait.

 

“We need someone to get close to _this_ guy.” Hershel threw another picture on the desk. “Gareth Church. That’s one of our suspects. As of right now, we don’t have enough evidence to take him in. That’s where you come in. You two will pose as a happily married couple — right next door to our possible killer.  If we’re wrong and he’s clean, we can eliminate him as a suspect altogether. You two go back to your normal lives.”

 

“This is so badass,” Negan belted out enthusiastically. He’d been waiting to be part of a case like this for years. To be the heart and soul of taking someone like this down and coming out a hero.

 

“Everything you need — food, clothes, whatever — will all be furnished thanks to an endless supply of seized drug money,” Hershel continued. “You can have your pick of impounded cars and your household bills will be covered.”

 

The room was spinning. Things were happening too fast.

 

“But, that mountain man beard of yours.” Hershel pointed to Rick. “That has got to go.”

 

“No,” Rick said sternly, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “I ain’t doing it.”

 

Hershel looked him in the eye, annoyance and disappointment running together across his own bearded, weather-beaten face.

 

“Aw c’mon, Rick,” Negan smiled, sliding his tongue over his bottom lip. “It’s just a fucking beard.”

 

“Don’t you _aw c’mon_ me,” Rick snapped. “I said _no_ . And I wasn’t talking about the beard. I’m talking about this whole thing. Being with _you_? No.”

 

Negan scoffed. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t sat around this office and fantasized about having access to _this_ 24/7.” He gestured up and down the length of his lean, hard body.

 

Rick swiftly averted his gaze out the window when Negan caught his eyes following the path of his gesturing hand. He could feel the heat rising in his face as he awaited a fusillade of tawdry remarks.

 

Negan got off on pushing everyone’s buttons. He was just one of those guys. But he knew it annoyed Rick more than anyone else. He lived to annoy him.

 

Whether it be the time he went to Starbucks and surprised everyone at the station with a free coffee — only to find that he had laced Rick’s with a generous spoonful of _salt_. Or the many times he felt it necessary to pull the chair out from under him when he went to sit down.

 

He never tried to cause him any physical harm, other than a sore ass from hitting the floor, he just seemed to enjoy the satisfaction when causing him embarrassment and discomfort.

 

A small part of him probably thought Rick enjoyed it, too. He couldn’t be further from the truth.

 

The man was almost thirty fucking years old, but felt the need to act like a twelve-year old boy at all times. He was a constant thorn in Rick’s side.

 

Negan would say that he was just a happy-go-lucky guy. It didn’t really bother him that everyone, outside of Hershel, hated his guts. He liked to laugh and have fun. Specifically at other people’s expense, _more specifically_ , Rick’s.

 

“Would you mind if I spoke with Rick alone?” Hershel asked looking at Negan.

 

Negan stood, flashing a _we’ll-talk-about-the-way-you-just-looked-at-me-later_ grin in Rick's direction before stepping out of the office.

 

“I’m not going to pretend to be that man’s husband, Hershel. No way in hell.”

 

“Rick,” Hershel spoke calmly, walking around and sitting on the edge of the desk in front of him. “The fact of the matter is, none of my other officers fit the part. You and Negan? You’re both around the same age as all of the victims. You both have a similar look our suspect seems to go for. And the two of you, as a couple,” Hershel shrugged. “It’s just believable. You two already act like a bickering married couple.”

 

Rick leaned back and closed his eyes, shaking his head in helpless frustration. “That’s ridiculous. The guy’s constantly fucking with me. I'm not going through with this. He’s an asshole.”

 

Hershel sighed heavily. “Look. I _know_ he’s an asshole. _He_ knows he’s an asshole. A fact he seems to be proud of. But he’s also a damn good cop. One of the best… just like you. I got nothing but faith in you boys. I know, if Church _is_ our man, you’ll help bring him down.”

 

Rick felt cornered. He knew there was no way to make this work. Negan made his life a living hell during working hours, he couldn’t imagine being stuck with him around-the-clock.

 

He knew he was making a decision he would undoubtedly regret. With his shoulders slumped and his head down, he agreed.

 

***

 

Hershel suggested that the two officers spend the evening together, maybe share a meal. They needed to _try_ and get to know each other a little better before moving into the house tomorrow.

 

Rick, of course, declined at first, but after a period of negotiation and Negan promising to be on his best behavior, he accepted.

 

“Before that,” Hershel said. “I need you to go with Beth. She’s gonna change up your look a bit. Have you match the victims styles just a little more.”

 

Rick worked his fingers through his thick, full beard. The idea of trimming it had been running through his mind a lot lately. In his opinion, it made him look forty years old instead of twenty-five.

 

“After that, I want you to meet up with Officer Peletier at the house. The suspect should be home by then.”

 

“Carol?” Negan asked. “Why is she there?”

 

“She’s our undercover realtor. Going to show you the house and put out the sold sign. We have to make this look real.”

 

“How do you know when the suspect is home?” Rick questioned.

 

“We’ve got a stakeout in the house across the street. Morgan, Tyreese, Tara, Rosita and Abe will be there at all times. Scattered surveillance vehicles ready to move at any given moment.

 

He handed them a piece of paper with the address scribbled on it. “Remember, he’ll be watching. Probably day _and_ night. Make _him_ believe you’re married. _Happily_ married.”

 

Hershel went back to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out two gold wedding bands. “I now pronounce you—”

 

“Stop,” Rick growled, taking possession of one of the rings and shoving it on his finger. “Before I change my fucking mind.”

 

Hershel couldn’t help but laugh as he handed the other ring to Negan. It really was easy to get under Rick’s skin.

 

“After you leave Carol, go see Aaron. He’s going to take a few pictures of you two together to display in the house. They’ll be framed and placed in one of the moving boxes. The boxes, new furniture and everything else will be loaded into a moving truck that you guys will have to drive to the house and unload yourselves tomorrow. He needs to see you moving in.”

 

Rick sighed, a dull headache already setting in. He wished there was a way to get out of this. He had no idea they were going to have to put this much effort into it. And Negan was no help. Every time he looked at him, he’d be looking back at him with that… _that smile_. Although it had softened quite a bit, it still unnerved him more than it reassured him.

 

***

 

After Negan picked out his vehicle, a black Cadillac Escalade, he insisted on going to his personal stylist to acquire his new look.

 

As Rick drove down the highway in the car he had chosen, a basic gray Hyundai Tucson, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. It was like looking at someone else entirely instead of his own reflection. His beard had been neatly trimmed to a very short scruff, and both ears were pierced with black studs — which hurt a hell of a lot more than Beth said it would.

 

But his _hair_ . Beth had clipped the back and sides close to the scalp, leaving it longer on top. Using a blow dryer, she created a side part, letting the long hang on one side. Rick liked it — _a lot_. Although he missed his trademark curls, he knew they would grow back.

 

Taking another quick look at himself, he wondered if Negan would look this different. Not that he cared. It’s just that he’s never seen him with any style other than his slicked back, black hair and police uniform. He would find out soon enough.

 

Turning into the large cul-de-sac, Rick’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. He had no idea they were moving into such an upscale suburban neighborhood. The houses all appeared to be brand new, some still under construction.

 

He pulled into the spacious driveway, parking beside Negan in front of the two-car garage. He was leaning against the side of the luxury SUV with his arms crossed. His black hair was still slicked back, save for a few strands that now hung down over his eyes.

 

When Rick got closer, he noticed that those eyes were heavily rimmed with a smoky black liner and his eyebrow was pierced. His perpetual five o’clock shadow, however, remained untouched.

 

“Goddamn, Rick. You fucking look— ”

 

Before he could finish, Carol pulled in behind them. She walked up smiling and greeted them as if it were the first time. Between their act of handshakes and pretend pleasantries, she noticed the suspect walking out of his house.

 

“Don’t look now, but we’ve got company.”

 

Gareth popped the hood of his car and tinkered around with some tools while keeping his eyes glued to his potential new neighbors.

 

“Oh he _is_ interested,” Carol whispered. “Hershel was right about you two. He isn’t taking his eyes off of either of you.” Carol looked them over, observing their personal distance and body language. “Come on boys. You’re together. _Act_ like it.”

 

Rick swallowed his hate, a good chunk of his pride and wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans before sliding his hand inside Negan’s. Negan glanced down, surprised to see Rick make the first move. Any other time, he would have had a smartass comment ready to fire, but not this time.

 

“Ready to fall in love with this house?” Carol asked loud enough to be heard by their audience of one, her lips curved in an unwavering smile. “If you love it as much as I think you will, you can start moving in tomorrow. It’s ready for immediate occupancy and you’ve already got the greenlight from the bank.”

 

Rick had witnessed this lady shoot a man in the head with a sniper rifle from fifteen-hundred feet away to rescue a kidnapped child without so much as batting an eye. She was a real hardass. The sweet-as-peaches disposition she was sporting now, was nothing short of Oscar worthy.

 

Once inside the house, Rick quickly dropped the act, _and Negan’s hand_. Looking out the window, he could see that the suspect had already gone inside.

 

“ _Honey_ ,” Negan joked, resting his hands on Rick’s shoulders. “This fucking house is incredible. I can’t wait to christen that granite countertop by consummating our marriage on—  ”

 

Rick scoffed in disgust and pushed his way past him, following Carol up the stairs. Negan laughed quietly and filed in behind them, enjoying the enticing sway of the jean-clad ass in front of him.

 

“I wanted to explain something about the master bedroom,” Carol said, ushering them inside the capacious room. “The thing is —”

 

“It’s mine!” Rick and Negan both shouted, almost in unison.

 

Rick shot daggers from his eyes, aiming them directly at Negan. “I said it before you.”

 

“The fuck you did. You were two goddamn seconds behind me. This room is _mine_.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” Rick snapped. “That is _such_ bullshit. Carol, tell him it’s bullshit. I said it first.”

 

Carol pinched the bridge of her nose, rolling her eyes behind closed lids at the level of immaturity between the two grown men. “He did say it _just_ before you, Negan.”

 

Negan's face clenched in a disgusted sneer as he watched the smug smile dancing across Rick's face grow wider and wider.

 

“Doesn't really matter who said it first though,” Carol said looking out the window. “You'll be sharing this room.”

 

Rick's celebratory moment was over after hearing those words. “Wh-what are you talking about? We never agreed to that?”

 

He looked to Negan, hoping he would be on his side about this and oppose. He should have known better. His chest was puffed out and the smile he was toting mimicked Rick's from seconds before.

 

Rick stared at Carol with a gentle pleading look.

 

“We staged a showing yesterday,” she started. “A dry run so to speak, just to see if he would bite. Although he didn't seem to be _quite_ as interested in Aaron and Eric as he seems to be in the two of you, he still watched. It’s the _way_ he watched that caught my eye. He hid in the window facing this one, with binoculars. He's got a front row seat, _right into this bedroom_.”

 

Rick walked over to the large window. “We can hang blinds. Or curtains. We could do both. Then it wouldn't matter. He couldn't see inside.”

 

Carol shook her head. “No. Hershel thinks this could all be over quickly if he has access to the goods. Wants him to _see_ you. Watch you. Two married men, enjoying a healthy, normal sex life.”

 

Rick's blue eyes widened as panic washed over his face. “S-s-sex life?”

 

“ _Simulated_ — sex,” Carol added after observing Rick’s green face. “Of course.”

 

Negan didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the news. In fact, he was doubled over in silent laughter, pointing at Rick.

 

“His is also the only house that has a window with a view to your Jacuzzi. It's obscured from everyone else's vision. Use it.”

 

Rick swallowed the bile that crept its way into his throat. He wasn't an actor. And he certainly wasn't a fucking porn star. He was a police officer. He unwrapped a stick of gum and popped in his mouth, hoping to overpower the bitter taste now on his tongue.

 

What he was being asked to do… no. No way. Rolling around naked in a bed, pretending to have sex with the man who made his life miserable? Being asked to perform sexual acts _outside_ ? _Knowing_ someone was watching them. This was ludicrous.

 

Just as he was about to turn around and tell Carol to let Hershel know he had changed his mind, he felt a warm presence behind him.

 

“You and I both know you don’t have the balls to go through with this,” Negan whispered against his ear, adding a throaty laugh that imitated a rusty door hinge.   
  
Rick whipped around to look him in the eye, taking a fighting stance in front of him. So many things he wanted —   _needed_ to say to him. He was tired of his bullshit. Tired of the way he constantly harassed him. But instead, he clenched his jaw shut, biting back his reply.

 

The two of them stood nose to nose, both panting heavily in each others face. A thick cord of tension stretched between them as his unspoken words hung in the air.

 

After several minutes of both men standing their ground, Rick was the first to crack. He dropped his gaze, wiped the beads of sweat off of his forehead and took a step back.

 

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Negan said, adding a taunting grin just for the hell of it. “You got no guts.”

 

Rick cursed himself silently as he walked with his head down out of the bedroom. He knew there was no backing out of this now. There was no excuse on earth strong enough to get him out of it. Negan would never let him live it down. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

 

The suspect was nowhere to be seen when Rick and Negan joined Carol back outside.

 

“Well _fuck me_ ,” Negan grumbled. “Looks like we’re wasting our goddamned time. We’re here to put on a show for this little hottie and he’s not even around.”

 

Rick squinted, throwing Negan a judgemental look. “D-did you just call a possible serial killer… _hot_?”

 

“Don’t worry my darling, _jealous_ husband.” Negan rubbed Rick’s stubbly chin, earning him a slap to his hand. “He’s nowhere near as pretty as you are.”

 

Just as Rick opened his mouth to respond, Carol hastily shushed them both, making a slight motion with her head toward the house next door. Gareth was back outside.

 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Negan whispered to Carol. “Gonna have to find somebody else for this job. Ricky here… he’s pussying out.”

 

That did it. Rick was done with the bullshit. He grit his teeth and stormed toward Negan, crossing the distance between them with a few long strides.

 

Noticing the way Rick was coming at him, Negan readied his fists to swing in self defense.

 

“Oh baby.” Rick threw his arms around Negan’s neck. “I love this house. I love _you_. I just know we’re going to be so happy here.”

 

Negan faltered for a brief second out of shock but quickly recovered, slipping his arms around Rick’s waist and lifting him off the ground.

 

Rick was hell-bent on showing him he had no intentions of _pussying out_ now. Big baby blues and soft pink lips were the last thing Negan saw before closing his eyes and accepting a deep, spearmint-flavored kiss from the man he claimed had no balls.

 

When Rick’s hands ended up tangled in his hair, Negan held him tighter, kissing him back for all it was worth, giving in to the dizzying, satisfying sensations.

 

That kiss proved to be the right move as it unquestionably grabbed the attention of their suspect. When they pulled away from each other and held hands in the driveway, Gareth was still standing in front of his house with his hands on his hips, studying the two of them.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Rick’s expectations for dinner with Negan were somewhat higher after he had proven he could _at_ _least_ behave himself during their photograph session with Aaron. They managed to get several nice shots. One being a portrait of the two of them looking sharp in black tuxedos, a mock representation of their wedding day.

 

Sitting across from each other in the crowded restaurant, sharing an appetizer of guacamole and chips, Negan listened keenly as Rick shared stories about his first year on the force. 

 

“ _ You?  _ Officer Friendly? Handcuffed a man to a roof and fucking left him there? I don’t believe it.”

 

“It’s true. I was still wet behind the ears. I didn't know what the hell I was doing,” he laughed. “But, this guy, he fucking deserved it. He was a loudmouth, homophobic racist. Always starting shit.”

 

“Did you go back for him?”

 

“The next day, yeah. His redneck brother tried to beat my ass over it. Didn't matter to him that I was a cop. But Merle was gone when we got there. Well, most of him.”

 

Negan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean,  _ most of him _ ?”

 

“There was a toolbox up there. Somehow he managed to get it close enough to reach the saw.”

 

“Smart,” Negan said, crunching into a chip. “He cut through the handcuffs.”

 

“Well, if he  _ was _ smart... I'd like to think he would have. But he was dumb as shit.  _ He cut off his fucking hand _ . I tell ya, I don’t know how I kept my job.”

 

Negan erupted into a fit of laughter, nearly spitting a mouthful of lime and coconut margarita across the table.

 

Rick leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. He watched Negan clutch his stomach and wipe his eyes with his shirt, listening until the laughter faded into hiccups and heavy sighs. He had never seen this side of him before. 

 

Rick would have never thought it possible, but he was actually enjoying himself. Enjoying their conversation. He had even caught himself, more than once, smiling and laughing with him.  _ Maybe _ , he thought, maybe this whole ordeal wouldn't be as bad as he had imagined. 

 

The waiter brought their food to the table. Negan unleashed a low growl after catching a whiff of his chipotle shrimp tacos. “Damn, that smells good.”

 

“So,” Rick said, rubbing his hands together, his mouth watering as he looked down at his plate of huevos rancheros. “We’re supposed to be getting to know  _ each other _ a little better here. Your turn to tell me something about you?”

 

He reached out, mindlessly grabbing the salt shaker to season his eggs. “Tell me something about—” He glanced down, realizing the salt shaker felt different in his hand. 

 

_ Fuck.  _ The entire shaker of salt had emptied on top of his food. 

 

Rick looked out from under his hooded brow, cold blue eyes fixated on Negan, who was now laughing  _ at him _ . 

 

“You were still fucking shaking it,” Negan wheezed, shoulders shaking with laughter. “And the goddamn thing was empty.” He stopped long enough to catch his breath. “Oh, Rick. You're too fucking easy.”

 

How did he do it? He was sitting in front of him the entire time. Never left the table. Yet, Negan had managed to take possession of the salt shaker, unscrew the lid and put it back in its place, all without Rick seeing him. 

 

Rick took the napkin out of his lap and threw it on the table. “You know what? I’m not even fucking surprised. I don’t know why I thought you could be mature enough for us to get through one meal together.”

 

He got up from the table and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Thumbing through the bills, he fished out enough to cover his ruined meal, the Moonlight margarita he didn’t get to finish and half of the appetizer. “Enjoy your dinner, asshole.”

 

With a mouthful of spicy shrimp and pico de gallo, Negan watched Rick make his way through the restaurant and out the door. 

 

***

 

Negan sat behind the wheel of the parked moving truck, staring at the closed garage doors in front of him. He couldn’t get in. Rick had the keys. He checked his watch.  _ Fuck _ . It was almost 10:45. They had made arrangements to meet at 10am sharp. 

 

He looked over to Beth and Maggie. They were parked beside of him, ready to help get things in place inside the new house. Beth tapped at an imaginary watch on her wrist. Negan rolled his eyes and spread his hands in an  _ I don’t know where the fuck he is either  _ manner.

 

Maybe last night was the last straw, he thought. Maybe he pushed him  _ too _ far. He probably wasn’t coming at all. He looked to his right again. Maggie was talking to someone on her phone. Negan sighed and checked his watch one more time.

 

_ Shit. _

 

By the time he looked back over in Beth and Maggie’s direction, they were standing outside of their car, stretching the stiffness out of their arms and legs. He got out and joined them, stretching his own limbs.

 

“We breaking in?”

 

“No,” Maggie said. “I just talked to Rick. He said he was about five minutes away.”

 

“Where the hell has he been?”

 

“Starbucks.” Maggie squinted against the bright, mid-morning sun, shielding her eyes with her hands. “Said he missed dinner last night and wanted to stop for some breakfast.”

 

Before Negan had time to feel guilty about  _ being the reason _ Rick had missed dinner, all three whipped their heads around at the sound of the glass storm door slamming shut at the house next to them. Gareth was taking a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs on his porch with a cup of coffee in his hand.

 

“He likes to watch,” Negan whispered, flashing a wide grin and wiggling his eyebrows. “I have to tell you, I'm looking forward to putting on a show for him.”

 

“Gross,” Maggie mouthed in response, just as Rick pulled into the driveway.

 

Negan walked over to Rick’s car, immediately appreciating the view the minute he got out and bent over to retrieve his haul from the coffee shop. He was dressed in black, well-above-the-knee running shorts, a blue t-shirt and sneakers. 

 

“Nice legs,” Negan noted, standing behind him. “Can't wait to find out if the rest of you is that hot?” He crossed his fingers. “I just got a feeling.”

 

“Mornin’,” Rick said, acknowledging only Beth and Maggie. “Sorry to keep you two waiting. I overslept and there was a long line at Starbucks.”

 

“What? No  _ good morning  _ for your loving husband? Don’t tell me you’re still salty over last night.” Negan said, laughing at his own joke. “See what I did there?  _ Salty _ . Get it?”

 

Rick eyed him but kept walking with his pastry boxes and four large cups of coffee. He stopped in front of the moving van, unaware of Gareth’s presence.

 

“Shit. The keys, they’re in my pocket.” He gestured for Beth or Maggie to hold the boxes. “One of y’all wanna—”

 

Before he could finish, Negan was shoving a hand into one of his pockets, digging deep enough to pull the waist of his shorts down and expose the top band of his underwear.

 

Rick’s unamused expression suddenly gave way to a sharp, open-mouthed gasp.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Negan said, his face slowly splitting into a wide, toothy grin. “That’s definitely not the the keys. Sorry ‘bout that, honey. He slipped his hand inside his other pocket. “Here they are.” 

 

Before Rick had the chance to flip his shit and say something to blow their cover, Negan leaned down and covered his parted lips with his own. “He’s watching us,” he whispered inside his mouth between kisses.

 

With his lips still held captive, Rick shifted his eyes toward the other house. Gareth was on the porch, peering over his coffee cup. With not only Gareth’s eyes, but also Beth’s and Maggie’s on them now, Rick hesitated for a second or two, but finally kissed him back.

 

***

 

“Let’s eat before we start,” Rick suggested, opening the boxes to display an assortment of croissants, scones, muffins and bagels. “I’m desperate for a cup of coffee. I was up half the night packing and... thinking.”

 

Something about the way he said  _ thinking  _ caught Negan’s attention. All sorts of thoughts were running through his mind. Thinking about what exactly? What he did to him in the restaurant? Whether or not he wanted to go through with this? What a tightass. Couldn’t the man take a fucking joke?

 

“Y’all help yourselves,” Rick nodded toward the food, eagerly sinking his teeth into a chocolate-hazelnut croissant. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Beth said, picking up a bagel. “But I  _ have  _ to ask. Is it weird? Pretending to be gay and kissing like that?”

 

“ _ Pretending _ to be gay?” both men asked simultaneously, wide eyes meeting in consternation. 

 

After a lingering, uncomfortable silence, they went back to eating their breakfast. Rick noticed an unclaimed cup sitting in the drink tray and looked to Negan.

 

“Better grab your coffee while it’s hot.”

 

“Oka—” Negan stopped cold, eyeing Rick warily. “Wait a fucking second. You’re awful goddamn eager for me to drink that.  _ Why _ , Rick? What the fuck did you do to it? You put something in it?”

 

“I only mentioned it once, and no, I didn’t put anything in it.  _ I’m  _ not an asshole.”

 

“There’s a shitload of salt in there, right. You think I'm stupid enough to fall for that shit? You can't trick a fucking trickster.”

 

Rick groaned and walked over to the cup of coffee. He popped the lid off, releasing a translucent ribbon of steam above the cup. He blew a cooling breath across the liquid before taking a sip himself and swallowing it down. 

 

“See? Just coffee beans and water, nothing else. I wouldn’t do that… not even to you.”

 

***

 

With all of the furniture moved in and everything in its place, Negan worked on putting his personal items and clothes away. 

 

“Which side of the bed you want,  _ sweetheart _ ?” he asked, walking into the master bedroom, unsure of which closet to hang his clothes in. 

 

Rick was standing at the window, staring out at the house next door. 

 

When his question went unanswered a second time, Negan dropped the armload of hangers and clothes on the bed and threw a balled up pair of socks at him, hitting him in the side of the face.

 

“What the  _ hell _ ?” Rick snapped, irritation clearly evident in his voice. 

 

“Can you not hear me talking to you?  _ Which side of the fucking bed do you want? _ ” 

 

Still no answer. 

 

“ _ Rick _ !”

 

“Neither! Okay? I shouldn’t have to pick a fucking side! I don’t wanna do this! To have to walk around naked in front of— ”

 

Negan picked up another pair of socks, throwing them solidly at Rick’s head, repeating the action until all of his socks were scattered in the floor.

 

“You’re fucking lucky I don’t have my goddamn shoes in here. We carried boxes and furniture into this house all fucking day. Not to mention all the work Beth and Maggie did. And  _ now  _ you decide, just because you're afraid of that guy seeing you naked, that you’re not gonna go through with it?”

 

With no response and no more socks to throw, Negan threw his hands up in frustration and turned to leave. Rick’s voice, soft and barely audible, stopped him in the doorway. 

 

“What the fuck did you just say?”

 

“I said it’s not him I’m afraid of.”

 

Negan choked on the insinuation. His eyes were wide with shock, insulted. “The hell are you saying? You’re fucking afraid of  _ me _ ? Now I know I’ve been rough as shit on you with the practical jokes, but come the fuck on, I’ve never done anything to actually hurt you.”

 

“I'm not afraid of  _ you _ , exactly.”

 

That was a lie. Rick  _ was  _ afraid. Afraid of what he would say. What he would do. The man had no filter. He knew, the minute his clothes came off, Negan would go over him with a fine-tooth comb, pointing out and making fun of every little imperfection.

 

At almost thirty years of age, Negan was still the equivalent of an immature, high school bully. Saying and doing whatever he wanted to, with no consideration for others. 

 

“What, then?

 

“The thought of getting undressed in front of you. I mean, I know what we have to do. I know  _ why  _ we have to do it. I just… I don't know. That first awkward moment keeps playing and replaying in my head. I can’t get past it.”

 

“That's it? That's what's up your ass? Getting naked in front of  _ me _ ?”

 

Rick shrugged. “The first time, yeah.”

 

“I know what you need.”

 

Rick, without even  _ hearing  _ his idea, was already shaking his head in dispute. 

 

“N-n-no, Rick. This will help. Trust me.”

 

_ Trust you? Are you fucking serious?  _

 

“Tell you what,” Negan continued. “Let's go get the grocery shopping out of the way. “We'll pick up a bottle of something on the way back to help calm you down and loosen you up a little. Something to help  _ drag  _ that hypothetical stick out of your ass —  then we'll play a little game.”

 

***

 

Grocery shopping with Negan was an adventure in and of itself. They had to go to two different stores just to find his favorite cereal. Because he simply  _ couldn't _ pick one of the other five-hundred varieties the first store had to offer. No. It  _ had to be _ Lucky Charms. 

 

He's had Lucky Charms for breakfast every Saturday morning as far back as he could remember. Cartoons and cereal on the couch. Alone. His parents were always too busy to spend time with him. Negan had to entertain himself. 

 

Maybe that's why he ended up the way he is now. Maybe his practical jokes were just his way of getting attention. Some form of entertainment for himself.  _ Maybe _ . Or maybe he was just an asshole. 

 

***

 

Rick carried his bottle of Bacardi rum inside the house like a newborn baby, cradling it in the crook of his left arm. 

 

“Did you have to buy so much junk?” he asked, placing a 12 pack of Coke on the island next to the rum. “Marshmallows, chocolate bars, potato chi— ” 

 

“ _Hey_ ,” Negan said defensively. “I didn't fucking question your purchases, did I? But since we're on the subject… ” Negan held up a pack of small razors. “Women’s bikini trimmers?”

 

Feeling the heat of humiliation color his face, Rick grabbed the package out of his hand and shoved it into his pocket. “God. I'm so glad I bought the big bottle of Bacardi.”

 

Rick filled a tall glass with crushed ice, adding a couple shots of rum, topping it off with a half a can of Coke. While Negan was absorbed with stocking the fridge and cabinets, he located the box with his personal hygiene products and a fresh change of clothes before locking himself in the bathroom. 

 

Standing in front of the mirror, still getting used to his new reflection, Rick took a long sip of his drink. With a heavy sigh and silent curse, he stripped his clothes off, his eyes scrutinizing over every last inch of his body.

 

He ran a hand over his well defined abs and pecs. His thighs and butt were nicely toned from jogging. He traced the deep channels made by the v-shaped muscles above his pelvis that always drove his partners wild. Most people found him attractive, but he couldn’t shake the thought of Negan finding fault with him.

 

_ Why did it matter so much? _

 

He downed half of his Coke and Bacardi before turning on the shower, scrubbing himself free from today's sweat. He pulled one of the bikini trimmers from its packaging, grooming the thick patch of dark hair above his cock.

 

Part of him wished Negan would walk in on him and see him naked  _ now _ . He wouldn’t have to worry about the initial awkwardness of getting undressed in front of him, critical eyes ogling him, judging him. Anything to have it over with.

 

That wish was abandoned rather quickly, though, when there was a soft knock on the other side of the door. Rick grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself as though Negan possessed the power to see through the slab of wood that separated them.

 

“I… I’ll be right out.”

 

“You relaxed yet?”

 

“Y-yeah,” he lied, his heart pounding in his throat. “I’ll be right out.”

 

***

 

Negan made himself a Coke and Bacardi while refreshing Rick’s empty glass, being a little more heavy-handed with the alcohol than he was with the Coke.

 

“What kind of game did you say we were playing?” Rick asked, meticulously inspecting the drink for salt before taking a sip. He had been curious,  _ and anxious  _ about the game ever since it was brought it up. 

 

Negan smoothed his tongue over his lips, watching the tight lines of confusion form around Rick’s eyes when he presented him with an upside down baseball cap containing a handful of folded note cards. 

 

“The game is called,  _ Someone's Getting Naked _ . The rules are pretty simple. Each piece of paper in this hat has a different challenge written on it. We take turns drawing a challenge from the hat. We both  _ perform  _ that challenge and whoever fucking sucks the worst, takes something off. We keep going until one of us is butt-ass naked.”

 

By  _ one of us,  _ Rick knew he meant  _ him.  _ He stared into his glass of liquid courage before guzzling the entire drink in one go. 

 

Negan couldn't resist watching the way Rick's throat worked as he tilted his head back to drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow. 

 

“Careful, Rick. If your ass gets  _ too  _ drunk, I might just be tempted to take advantage of you.”

 

“I'm not drunk. Not even close.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And you don't stand a chance. Let's just—  can we just get this over with.”

 

“Sure thing, Rick.” Negan leaned back heavy on his heels, shaking the paper-filled cap in front of him. “Be my fucking guest.”

 

Rick closed his eyes, reached into the hat and pulled out a challenge. 

 

“What’s it say?”

 

“Rock, Paper, Scissors — best two out of three.”

 

Rick faced Negan, both with their fists readied on an open palm. The small trace of a smile playing on his lips said that Rick was just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

 

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”

 

Negan played scissors, Rick played rock. 

 

Rick - 1 Negan - 0

 

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”

 

Negan played rock, Rick played scissors.

 

Rick - 1 Negan - 1

 

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”

 

Negan played scissors, Rick played paper.

 

Rick - 1 Negan - 2

 

“Dammit,” Rick laughed. 

 

“Game, set and match!” Negan shouted, throwing his arms up above his head in celebration. “Don’t keep me waiting, darlin’. Lose that fucking shirt.”

 

Rick’s fingers danced at the hem of his fitted, black t-shirt for a moment before pulling it up and over his head. He stood still. Listening, watching, waiting as Negan’s eyes roamed hungrily over his exposed flesh. 

 

Nothing. Not a word. All of the things he feared Negan would say never came. The silence filled him with  _ both  _ a sense of relief… and an unexplainable disappointment. 

 

“My turn.” Negan handed Rick the hat, drawing out a piece of paper. “Thumb war! You may as well kiss those fucking jeans goodbye now.”

 

“You haven’t won yet, Negan. I used to be pretty good at this game.”

 

“You remember how the rhyme goes then?” Negan asked, interlocking their fingers.

 

“I remember.”

 

Together, they recited. “One, two, three, four. I declare a thumb war.”

 

“Five, six, seven, eight. I just used this hand to masturbate,” Negan added with an  _ I'm dead serious  _ smirk. 

 

Disgust washed over Rick’s face. Just as he tried to pull his hand away, Negan attacked, easily pinning his thumb and winning the second challenge. 

 

“Game!” Negan cheered with his fist in the air. “I  _ literally  _ just beat the fucking pants off of you.”

 

“No way,” Rick protested. “You cheated. We’re doing that one over.”

 

“Don’t be a sore loser. There’s a big difference between cheating and strategy. And  _ that _ , even if I do say so myself, was a fucking good strategy. Now go on, I wanna see you shimmy your way outta those tight jeans.”

 

Rick had no choice but to grit his teeth and accept defeat. Releasing the button and zipper, he gave Negan a better view of the neatly groomed trail of dark hair that vanished into his briefs. 

 

“Need some help?” Negan’s words were deliberately self-serving, eager to see the unseen.

 

Rick’s dimples deepened slightly along with the color of his face. “No, I can manage.” With a shaky breath and both hands inside his waistband, he pushed his jeans down and kicked them to the side.

 

Negan’s greedy eyes widened, feasting on the display of uncovered flesh and the only piece of fabric left to cover Rick’s body, a tight pair of white briefs with bright blue trim. 

 

***

 

By the time they got another rum-laden cola under their belt, Negan had lost his shirt during a game of Odds and Evens, and his jeans during an intense staring contest. 

 

This was it. The deciding game. If Rick lost, he would be completely exposed in front of this man. The man that made life for him miserable. But at least it would be over and done with. 

 

On the other hand, if he won, he would be standing in front of a completely naked Negan. At this point, he wasn't sure which outcome he dreaded more. 

 

Rick drew the final challenge from the hat. Reading it, he looked to Negan and shook his head.

 

“Well? What is it?”

 

“First one to finish a banana.”

 

***

 

The notion of winning or losing was no longer on Rick’s mind as he watched Negan dip his head to wrap his lips around the suggestive fruit, pushing it slowly toward the back of his throat. No, his mind was on other things now,  _ similar things _ that Negan could do with those pouty lip— . 

 

_ Wait. What the fuck is happening? _

 

It was too late. By the time he managed to gain control of his thoughts, to bring himself back from the place his mind had taken him without his permission, his body had already begun to betray him. 

 

His own goddamned weakness infuriated him. How could he let this happen? Especially now?  _ Now _ . Oh shit. The challenge. He hadn’t even taken a bite from his banana, and Negan, Negan was finished. All he had to do was swallow what was in his mouth. 

 

His briefs, which were now entirely too snug, would be coming off in a minute. He couldn’t let Negan see him like— 

 

“Winner!” Negan was euphoric over his victory.

 

“You did that on purpose. Didn’t you? To distract me.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You did that so you would win and I would lose. Admit it.”

 

“What the fuck are you— you know what? I don’t even care. The only thing I care about are those tighty whities coming off. Let’s have ‘em.”

 

“N-no. Not yet. I will but… just give me a few minutes.”

 

Negan grabbed him by the ankles, threatening to pull him toward him on the couch. “If you don’t pull them off, I will. You lost.”

 

“I’m going to,” Rick was doing his best to keep his knees bent. “Just give me some time.”

 

“Are you done?” Negan questioned him, smiling. “With your fucking stalling?”

 

“No.”

 

Negan assumed Rick was just being shy. He wanted to help him get over it. The  _ was _ the entire reason for playing the game, right? 

 

“Alright. Don’t fucking say I didn’t warn you.” 

 

Before Rick could counter, he was yanked within reach with one swift tug. Gripping the blue trim of Rick’s briefs, Negan jerked them off effortlessly, unleashing his stiff, flushed cock. 

 

Rick scrambled to cover himself. Hot tears of shame and rage needled at the corner of his eyes. Shame for the here and now... and for the shame to come. His breathing was hard and labored. He felt like he was suffocating, as if all of the air had been suddenly sucked out of the room.  

 

Negan had always been told he was an asshole, even admitted himself after hearing it for so long. But  _ now _ , seeing Rick’s face and the damage he had caused, he  _ knew  _ it was true. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I've been super sick. Strep throat kicked my ass. 
> 
> I hope I didn't screw this up, attempting to write under these circumstances. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I love you all dearly.

He should apologize. Negan knew that much. But it wasn't in his nature. He didn’t know _how._ He had attempted a feeble _sorry_ as he watched Rick gather his clothes and his dignity before heading upstairs to the bedroom, but the word stuck in his throat like stale bread.

 

He’s probably up there right now packing his shit to leave, Negan thought. He should just let him go. He was tired of this back and forth thing with Rick.

 

But he still wanted to do this. This case was the most important thing in the world to him right now.

 

Assuming he’d had enough time to be dressed and have about half of his things packed if he was leaving, Negan headed up the stairs.

 

Stopping outside the closed door, he let his grip slide off of the doorknob. Given their current circumstances, he thought it best to knock. “Okay if I come in?”

 

“It’s your room, too.” The voice on the other side was clearly afflicted with wounded pride. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

 

Negan silently seethed at the unspoken _you will anyway_ in his tone.

 

Instead of seeing boxes and bags being repacked when he stuck his head inside the door, he caught a glimpse of two bare feet lying crossed on the bed. Rick was dressed and stretched out on his side, facing the window.

 

“I see you finally picked a fucking side.” Negan joked, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed. “You giving Killy McMurder Pants an early show without me?” The old phrase _timing is everything_ never meant much to Negan.

 

“Seriously though, Rick. I… I didn’t…” There was a well of words in his chest that wouldn’t budge. “I’m an expert at fucking shit up. I could sit here and give you half-assed excuses all the live long about why I am the way I am. But the fact is, I’m just an asshole. Plain and simple. I don’t know how else to say it. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you. That one was on me. But I was just trying to help you get over this. Help you get past it so we can do what we gotta do.”

 

Rick wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn't convinced he _needed_ to say anything yet. In all honesty, he was more ashamed and embarrassed than he was angry. The fact that Negan had been able to get to him so quickly. So effortlessly. It scared him. Left him confused. This _was_ the same man who made going to work everyday a fucking nightmare.

 

He couldn’t deny that Negan was an attractive guy. And as cliché as it sounded, he did have that whole sexy, dangerous bad-boy vibe working for him right now. But that, that was just an illusion. Underneath the eyeliner, the piercing and the hair, he was still the same scurrilous, contemptible bastard he’s always been. He had just proven that with his _I’m the real victim here_ speech, cleverly disguised as an apology. What happened downstairs, Rick had all but assured himself that it was just a moment of weakness. He wouldn't let it happen again.

 

“You _know_ ,” Negan continued. “You don't have to go through with this if you don't want to. It's your fucking call. I just… I don't know. I just think it would really suck ass if all the effort that was put into this thing got pissed away just because you hate me.”

 

“I don't ha—” Rick stopped, sitting up and hugging his knees to his chest. “Look. I’m not gonna lie to you, Negan. The thought of doing this with you, it fucking turns my stomach inside out. I’d rather do anything else with _anyone_ else _._ ”

 

Negan’s body slumped into a dejected posture. He knew he deserved that. Knew damn well Rick had earned the right to say it. But neither of those facts took the sting out of the words.

 

“What I hate is the way you treat me. I know nothing I say to you is gonna change that. You said it yourself. You _are_ the way you are. You’re an asshole. I get it. Just, maybe next time, when  someone tells you to wait, fucking wait. I wasn’t trying to renege on the game. I was going to go through with it. I just… I wasn’t ready.”

 

 _You looked fucking ready to me_ . The words were on the tip of Negan's tongue. It took everything inside him not to blurt it out. Maybe he _was_ capable of decency and self control after all. And if not, surely he could fake his way through it.

 

***

 

The guys were rooting through the refrigerator, trying to decide on something for dinner. Negan had suggested they go out, maybe grab a burger or something, but Rick wasn’t feeling up to it. With night approaching fast, and not really sure of what it would entail, his nerves were somewhat on edge.

 

“Oh hell yeah.” Negan held up a package of bacon. “I could make us a couple BLT sand—”

 

“Shh!” Rick froze with fear. He could feel every hair on his body stand on end as the footsteps advanced on the front porch. His heart was slamming hard against his chest, the pounding travelling through every part of his body and exiting through his throbbing fingertips.

 

“Were you expecting someone?” Negan whispered.

 

Before Rick could say no, the doorbell rang several times in rapid succession, causing them both to jolt out of their skin. Neither made a move toward the door.

 

“Pizza!” A young-sounding male voice called out from the porch.

 

Relief cut through and diluted Rick’s panic the minute he recognized the voice. “I think that’s Glenn,” he said with a heavy sigh. He peeped out the narrow window beside the door. “It is.”

 

“Glenn,” Rick said, inviting him to step inside. “You scared the shit out of us. “We thought you were Gar—”

 

“That’ll be $28.45,” Glenn said sharply, cutting him off and closing the door behind him. “Watch what you say, dumbass,” he continued in a hushed tone. “Your neighbor took a drive earlier. Sasha followed him to a hunting supply store. He dropped a bundle on some pretty high-powered night vision binoculars and hearing enhancement aids. He’s now fully equipped to see you in total darkness and hear you when you take a deep breath.”

 

“Why the pizza delivery guy role?” Negan questioned. “Couldn’t you just call and tell us that? We were ready to bash your motherfucking skull in.”

 

“We don’t know how technically outfitted he is after this? We thought about texting, but Hershel wanted to make certain you got this info.” Glenn handed Negan the pizzas. “If you're outside, if your windows are open, even if the door is cracked a half an inch, you're to be in character consistently.”

 

“He can’t really hear us whisper, can he?” Rick asked, wondering how anything could be that powerful.

 

“With the hearing enhancements he just shelled out eight-hundred bucks for, he can hear you swallow.”

 

And swallow Rick did. _Hard_. Why did this thing have to keep getting more and more complicated?

 

“You're a couple 24/7. Not only when you _think_ he's watching, even when you know he isn't. Day or night. Don't even go to bed out of character. You are Rick and Negan Walker. He's not going to believe it if you don't.”

 

“Walker?” Rick asked.

 

“Hershel's idea,” Glenn said with a smile. “Since you'll be using your real names, Eugene worked his magic and deleted any kind of paper trail that could trace you back to the police department.”

 

Glenn turned to leave before the suspect started wondering why the pizza guy was inside so long. “Oh,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Speaking of Eugene. He'll be here sometime tomorrow to hook up your Internet, satellite _and_ to set up _your_ home office.”

 

“Home office?” Negan questioned.

 

“A home-based, internal audit manager would need a home office, right? A nice six-figure salary. Enough to allow you to live like _this_ and for your husband to not have to work at all.”

 

***

 

After polishing off several slices of pizza, Negan looked over at Rick, who was still picking at his first slice.

 

“What are you thinking about, Rick _Walker_?”

 

Rick cut his eyes at Negan in a scowling glare before going back to tracing his finger through the greasy pizza toppings. “You know, it _is_ normal to be nervous about something like this. What isn't normal is being fucking excited about it. What is wrong with you?”

 

“Just because voyeurism isn’t your forte doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with _me_ if I happen to find it interesting. God, you’re such a fucking killjoy. It’s just something I’ve always wanted to try, okay?”

 

“I’m _sorry_.” Rick stood up, throwing his uneaten pizza in the trash and putting his plate in the sink. “I thought we were here to stop a possible murderer, not help you fulfill some fucked up, sick fantasy.”

 

“Speaking of our homicidal hottie,” Negan grinned, ignoring the groans of discontent coming from Rick. “It’s almost showtime. I’m gonna go out and light the fire pit and heat up the Jacuzzi.”

 

“Why?” Rick asked.

 

“Well, what better way to break you in than having our first fake fuck in the great outdoors? That's another thing I've always wanted to do. Two birds, one stone.”

 

Rick's palms were already starting to sweat and his pulse was loud in his ears. “We don’t have to… w-we can wait until… it’s not like married couples do it _every_ night.”

 

“Look at yourself, Rick. Look at me. If you _were_ my husband, _hell_ , we’d fuck like jackrabbits.” Negan winked, sliding his tongue between his teeth. “You need help getting _ready_? Yes? No? I could eat another banana for you.”

 

Rick didn’t respond. What good would it do? _It’s just his way_ , he kept reminding himself. After watching Negan disappear through the backdoor, he went to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Bacardi, chugging it straight from the bottle.

 

***

 

The dancing flames coming from the circular stone fire pit cast the redwood deck with an orange glow, bathing everything in a seductive embrace. The plumes of white steam rose lazily over the hot water in the Jacuzzi, curling and drifting against the crisp, night air.

 

The setting was veritably intimate. Sensual. Or, _it would be_ , if he could forget the fact that there was a man, hidden somewhere in the darkness behind him, with murderous intent.

 

As Rick walked down the stairs of the deck, he could see that Negan was already reclined in a comfortable position in the steamy water. The LED lights scattered around the bottom and sides of the tub, illuminated his wet skin with a soft blue glow.

 

“Careful, darlin’.” Negan rose from the water, reaching out his hands to help Rick into the tub. “Easy does it. It’s hot enough to steam a fucking lobster in here.”

 

Rick hissed at the initial contact with the water, but his body gradually adjusted to the temperature as he sank down beside Negan. “ _Oh_ _God_ ,” he sighed wearily, relaxing his head against the edge of the tub and closing his eyes. “This feels so fucking good.”

 

“You sound tired, baby?” Negan breathed heavily against Rick’s ear, sending his entire body into sensory overload.

 

“I’m sore,” Rick replied, rubbing his neck. “Stiff.”

 

And he was. Rick knew he had a role to play here. Knew it had to be believable. But, he hadn’t counted on his body responding so damn eagerly to a whisper in his ear. His cock, already rigid as a steel rod, strained hard against his swim trunks.

 

“Bring that sore body over here to me,” Negan purred, pulling his frame directly in front of him, giving him no other options. “Let's see if I can’t work out some of those kinks.”

 

Rick didn't protest when Negan pulled him even closer, drawing their bodies together in a tense stance. He said nothing when two strong hands slid down the back of his trunks, cupping and squeezing the firm, wet globes behind him, hips bumping together rhythmically. And there was no argument when his nylon shorts were pushed down his thighs, exposing him to the night, and whoever lurked in its shadows.

 

“God,” Negan whispered, spinning him around, massaging and kneading the hard muscles of his shoulders and upper back. “My boy is so fucking beautiful.”

 

Rick knew those words were meant for Gareth’s ears only. Knew it had nothing to do with Negan’s personal opinion of _him_. Yet, his dick still dripped with liquid desire.  

 

Leaving his shoulders, Negan’s hands found their way to Rick’s front, tracing his wet fingers around both erect nipples before squeezing gently, massaging the pectoral muscles until they quivered under his touch.

 

The scraping sound of stubble against stubble vibrated in Rick’s ear as Negan bent down, tasting his skin with long, hungry strokes of his tongue. His legs trembled, his body felt boneless as Negan peppered his face and neck with hot, wet kisses, biting down when he reached the junction where his neck and shoulder met. So many sensations rippling through his body at once, pebbling his flesh with goosebumps.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Rick whispered, drawing a deep, shuddering breath.

 

Negan turned him in his arms, one hand holding him by the back of his neck, the other on the small of his back. Rick wondered, as he lifted his hands, resting them on Negan’s bare chest, if this embrace was to help steady him on his unstable legs, or just an excuse to bring their bodies closer together.

 

His gaze dropped briefly from Negan’s heavy-lidded hazel eyes to his spit-slick lips. His body was pulsating with need, with want, and he hated himself for it. Never in a million years would he imagine himself wanting to kiss those lips. To be held this way by this man. When he looked back up, finding Negan’s eyes again, he was sure he could see it, too. As if the truth was written all over his skin.

 

Without warning, shaking him from his haze, Negan lifted him from the water, seating him on the edge of the hot tub. Rick watched as two strong hands roamed over the muscular surface of his upper legs, settling on his thighs, slowly pushing them apart.

 

The sudden sensation of hot breath ghosting over his sensitive skin left Rick struggling for air. Negan’s lips were _so close_ to his hard, flushed member, but never stopping. Never making contact. It took every ounce of self-restraint he had inside him not to lift his hips, to close that gap, the mere half inch of space that separated them.

 

Negan’s fingertips moved up his body, tracking a path to his hips and up his sides. When Negan’s mouth finally made contact with his body, he made a feast on the flesh of Rick’s inner thighs.

 

“Oh _fuck_.” Rick threw his head back and howled in pure pleasure, lacing his fingers deep into Negan’s thick, black hair. His body writhed in what was supposed to be simulated ecstasy. But what he was feeling, God it was so real. Each time those lips moved against his skin, he felt his desire grow to a new level. A fresh supply of warm blood travelling straight to his already painfully stiff cock.

 

“Shit. _Shit_!” The feeling of teeth and tongue coming in contact with the sensitive crease where Rick’s thigh met his hip was too much. The intense sensation drew Negan’s name out of his mouth with a long, pitiful whine.

 

Negan looked up with a satisfied smirk before hopping out of the Jacuzzi and pulling Rick up on his feet. He led him over to the crackling fire in the pit, laying him down on a plush bed of blankets. “You’ll be warmer here.”

 

Rick looked up, watching the silhouette Negan’s body made in front of the fire as he pushed his swim shorts down, turning to reveal the dark form of his raging, hard length. Unable to make out the details of his face in the dark, Rick could still feel his eyes on him. The burn they delivered felt ten times hotter than the flames that framed his tall, naked shadow.

 

As the dark figure hovered over him, Rick felt the need to both reach out and touch him, and to get up and run away as fast as he could. But he couldn’t seem to do anything but surrender to the weight that was settling between his legs, and the slide of silky flesh against silky flesh.

 

“Tell me what you want,” Negan breathed against Rick’s neck, moving just enough to drive Rick crazy.

 

His heart thundered in his chest. “I want…” Rick swallowed, unable to get the words out.

 

“Tell me, baby. I need to hear it. What do you want?”

 

“F-fuck me.”

 

“Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?”

 

“Mmm,” Rick whimpered helplessly, darting his tongue out to wet his parched lips. “It’s what I need. I _need_ you to fuck me. Negan, _please_.”

 

Negan jumped to his feet, letting out a low whistle while clapping his hands in a slow, dramatic fashion. “Atta fucking boy, Rick. Damn. You, sir, are one hell of an actor.”

 

Rick paused, a sudden stillness taking over his body as he stared up in shock, blue eyes blinking in confusion.

 

Negan laughed as if he’d just pulled off one of his legendary pranks at Rick’s expense. “Gareth isn’t watching. Hell, he’s not even fucking home.”

 

Rick struggled to get to his feet, hastily covering himself with one of the blankets out of shame. “You m-made me…” The choking sensation in his throat rendered him incapable of speaking.

 

Unable to stomach the sight of Negan another second, he turned around, making his way back inside the house.


	4. Chapter 4

Negan opened the back door cautiously, eyes sweeping back and forth, scoping out the room before he stepped inside. He was counting on Rick striking with some form of retaliation, thinking he was the butt of another one of Negan’s cruel jokes. 

 

Rick was half-sitting, half-standing at the kitchen counter. One foot on the floor, the other on the bottom rung of a stool, chasing a mouthful of rum with a can of Coke. The blanket he had used to cover himself outside was still draped loosely around him. His glassy, blue stare was fixed on the empty space in front of him.

 

Hearing the soft shuffle of bare feet across the tile floor, Rick lifted his gaze, delivering a glare so intense, it forced Negan to take a step back. His cheeks were so hot and red with fury, the tears he shed should have dried up on contact.

 

“Rick I—”

 

“Don’t!” Rick sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his arm before drawing another bitter hit from the bottle. “You got what you wanted. So please, just leave me the fuck alone.”

 

“What’d I get, Rick?” Negan asked, folding his arms across his bare chest, leaning against the counter. “What exactly do you think it is I fucking wanted?”

 

“ _ This _ ,” he hissed, gesturing to himself. “The same damn thing you always want. To see me stripped down and humiliated.  _ Broken _ .”

 

Negan cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes into slits. “You're wrong, Rick.”

 

“ _ Am I _ ?” Rick’s features twisted into a mural of confusion, anger and hurt. “You took me outside and you stripped me down. You  _ knew  _ Gareth wasn’t home. But you still put your hands on me.  Put your  _ mouth  _ on me. You fucking made me want y—” He stopped, clamping his jaw and lips tight to keep himself from saying something he knew he would regret.

 

“I did what I did to help you. God _ damn _ . Why can’t you see that?”

 

“ _ Help _ me,” Rick scoffed. “Don't do me any favors, Negan. I don't want them. I don't fucking need them. Not from  _ you _ .”  

 

“If you would just calm the fuck down and give me two goddamn minutes to explain.” 

 

Shaking his head, Rick screwed the cap back on the bottle of rum and returned it to the cabinet, closing it with a slam that nearly tore it off its hinges. “I’m going to bed. Why don’t you go explain whatever bullshit excuse it is you have to your boyfriend,  _ Gareth _ ? Maybe he might give an actual fuck… if he doesn’t kill you first.”

 

***

 

Negan lingered outside the bedroom door, leaning in and pressing his cheek against the frame while he watched Rick, who was mostly veiled by the darkness, pull on a pair of underwear. 

 

“I uh… I’m just gonna hop in the shower before I hit the hay, alright?” Negan stood there, running his fingers through his hair, waiting for a response that never came. 

 

“Rick,” he sighed. “I’m gonna say this and I need you to fucking listen to me, okay? I just wanted you to be comfortable. That’s all. I wanted you to have a practice run at it so that when we do actually have to perform under Gareth’s eye, you’ll be able to get through it. Like nobody's watching. I was only trying to help you.”

 

“I’m tired, Negan.” Rick’s back was still turned to him, his tone, quiet and measured. “Are you finished?”

 

“No. Not until I get this out. I… fuck it. I’m just gonna say it. I’m sorry.”

 

Turning just enough to look over one shoulder, Rick listened attentively. He was struggling to weed out the bullshit and detect an ounce of sincerity in his words. Negan was not an easy person to read. In all the time he had known him, he’s never once felt it necessary to apologise, for  _ any  _ reason. 

 

“I mean it. I’m truly sorry.” Negan cringed. “Goddamn. It’s weird... saying that out loud. I don’t remember ever saying it before. Congrats for popping my  _ I’m-sorry _ cherry, Rick.” Negan leaned forward, giving Rick his best toothy smile, hoping it would be reciprocated. It wasn’t.

 

“I want you to know something,” he continued. “I would never do anything like that just for shits and giggles. And I don’t expect you to forgive me out of the fucking blue either. I just… I need you to know the truth.”

 

Rick acknowledged him with a short nod, but kept his face void of any expression when he met his eyes again. No way would one apology get Negan off the hook for two years worth of torment. But, at the very least, maybe it was finally a step in the right direction.

 

***

 

Beneath the spray of hot water, Negan closed his eyes and let his mind take him back to the hot tub. To the fire pit. The feeling of his hands on Rick's body. Lips and tongue on his skin. Flesh against flesh. Negan could feel his own body begin to tense just thinking about it. Drawing tight with the gathering desire inside him. Rick's reaction wasn’t an act. Hell, he knew that. 

 

It’s probably been a while for him, Negan told himself. Yeah. It was probably just a lack of male companionship that triggered such an immediate, physical response. Just an innocent, natural reaction to being touched so intimately. 

 

He would have reacted that way with anyone. The way his body trembled under his touch. That strong, tell-tale scent of raw male want and need that dripped from his body when he… 

 

_ No _ . 

 

Negan wouldn’t allow himself to go there. He shook his head, ducking it down under the shower, allowing the near scalding temperature of the water to run over his face and wash the idea away. 

 

There was no way in hell, not after all the shit he’s put him through, that Rick would be sexually attracted to him. He laughed at the outrageous notion, soaped up and rinsed off quickly, putting the thought out of his mind altogether.

 

***

 

The soft mattress and plush black comforter had already staked its claim on Rick's body, molding itself around him as if it were protecting him from something. Quite possibly protecting him from  _ someone _ . 

 

Negan tiptoed his way around the bed. A crooked grin curved his lips as he peered down at the tranquil figure. He  _ must  _ have been tired. 

 

Rick had already fallen into a deep sleep. His mouth was hanging wide open, allowing a trickle of drool to drip down and cling to the stubble on his chin. His right hand rested on the pillow next to his face, fingers twitching intermittently. His left hand was balled into a tight fist, tucked up between his jaw and shoulder. The only sound in the house was his heavy, raspy, bordering-on-a-snore breathing.

 

After getting his fill of watching Rick twitch and drool, Negan pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and eased his way between the sheets beside him, being careful not to wake him up. 

 

Goddamn, Negan thought. No wonder Rick fell asleep so fucking fast. The bed, which he swore was the softest and most comfortable one he'd ever been in, swallowed him whole. Sleep claiming him immediately. 

 

***

 

8 o’clock on a Saturday morning? The last thing Negan wanted to do was open his eyes, but the insistent ringing of the doorbell downstairs wasn’t really giving him any other option.

 

“Fuck,” he grumbled, making an unsuccessful attempt to get up and see who it was. It took him a few seconds, with his brain not quite functioning at full capacity yet, but was soon able to identify the familiar feeling of strong, warm flesh pressed close against him.

 

He forced his eyes open and lifted his head.  _ Rick _ . He had managed to roll over next to him in his sleep, creating a mass of tangled arms and legs. His head was resting on his chest. 

 

“Oh this isn’t fair,” Negan whispered, suddenly aware of how perfectly Rick’s body fit against his. “You’re not playing fucking fair at all, Grimes.”

 

Maybe, Negan thought, searching for logic in this situation, maybe Rick had spotted Gareth watching them sometime during the night. He was just playing the role he was supposed to be playing. A happily married man sleeping comfortably in his husband’s arms. That had to be it. 

 

But, in his eyes, fate had dealt him a good hand this time. And he was determined to play it carefully. Ignoring the irritating chime of the doorbell, Negan used his fingernails to draw soft, slow trails, tickling the line of Rick’s spine, earning him royal remuneration in the form of a sleepy, dimple-wielding smile.

 

“Yeah?” Negan’s tone was as soft as his touch. “You like that?”

 

He stroked up the length of his backbone again using the pads of his fingers, feeling the round bump of each vertebrae beneath his warm, smooth skin. As if giving his approval, Rick released a long, contented sigh. 

 

Oh yeah. He liked it. He was definitely enjoying his touch. God, everything suddenly felt so right.

 

Negan’s fingers continued their quest, crawling up his neck and skimming across his scalp in long, lazy strokes. Rick's breaths grew deeper, more relaxed every time his nails raked through his hair. Negan could feel his body dissolving, slowly melting into him.

 

“That’s right,” he whispered, scratching along his hairline, lingering at the sensitive spot behind his ear. “Feels  _ nice  _ doesn’t it? I can make you feel good, Rick. I can—”

 

The doorbell rang again, but this time it was accompanied by a loud, continuous banging. 

 

_ Goddammit.  _

 

Rick, still smiling, slowly blinked his eyes open. Negan’s stomach twisted into a hard, painful knot when those eyes connected with his. The sweet, innocent smile was long gone from Rick’s face. In its place, a look of pure shock and horror.  _ Fear _ . 

 

Negan knew there was no justifiable reason for his hurt, but he was feeling it just the same. Rick still didn’t trust him. Why should he? He’d never given him any reason to. Quite the opposite actually. 

 

Normally, Negan didn’t give a shit whether anyone liked or trusted him. But suddenly, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he found himself wanting that trust from him. 

 

Rick scrambled to get away, shame coloring his face. “I'm—  I don't know how I—  or why I would even— ”

 

“It's okay, Rick.” Negan held onto him, refusing to let go despite his struggle. “This is what we're supposed to be doing. We're  _ married _ . Hell, who knows? Maybe we're still in the honeymoon phase. Gareth doesn't know either way.”

 

Rick's face pinched with discomfort as he worked to get his knee out of the vicinity of Negan's warm crotch. 

 

“It's okay,” Negan repeated, scratching Rick's back in rotating motions. Small circles, big circles, up and down, side to side. 

 

It felt so good, Rick couldn't bring himself to continue his protest. His rigid limbs slowly drifted back to their previously sedated state. As soon Negan felt Rick’s eyelashes feather his chest when his eyes closed, his phone lit up, vibrating and skidding halfway across the nightstand.

 

_ If this is the same dick who's ringing that doorbell, I swear to God I'm gonna crush their fucking skull _ .

 

Negan opened the new messages and groaned. 

 

**Eugene: I’m well aware that the most likely scenario is that you're not yet in full swing given the early hour, but if you and your counterfeit counterpart wish to have access to the Internet today, it would be in your best interest to open the door PDQ.**

 

**Eugene: Actually, make that PFQ. I'm a busy man.**

 

“No point in both of us getting up.” Negan said, sliding out from under Rick. “You can sleep some more if you want to. I'll go downstairs and let Achy Breaky Big Mistakey in so he can do his fucking thing and get the hell out of here.”

 

*******

 

Negan swung the front door back mid-yawn, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. 

 

“The fuck are you and your beaver paddle doing here so goddamned early? We're trying to sleep.”

 

“I'm confident my company specified my time frame in which I could potentially arrive.” It was obvious that Eugene had been given clear-cut instructions about his character, but he was trying too hard. He was loud and sounded like he was reading lines from a bad script. “Anytime between eight and fi—”

 

“Yeah yeah,” Negan mumbled, cutting him off and waving him inside the house. “Listen, just do whatever fucking techie, nerdy computer shit it is you're here to do. I'm going back to bed.” He took the stairs two at a time and stopped at the second landing. “How long you think this will take?”

 

“Well, that all depends on a number of factors. Some of those factors, like the state of your —”

 

“Oh  _ fuck _ that,” Negan turned and walked up the remaining stairs. “I’m sorry I asked.”

 

When he walked back into the bedroom, Rick was stretched out on his stomach in the center of the bed, head buried beneath the pillows to shield his eyes from the sunlight flooding the room. The comforter and top sheet had been kicked into the floor, leaving an exhibit of five feet, ten inches of lean, tanned muscle on clear display. Hard and corded. Smooth flesh, scattered with a dusting of dark hair.

 

As he watched the rise and fall of Rick’s sculpted back and shoulders, a sudden flicker of movement in Gareth’s window captured his attention. He caught himself before he turned to look. 

 

Slowly, without moving his head, he shifted his eyes toward the window. The curtains moved. Gareth was getting into position. Forearms bent back, elbows protruding out. Negan knew the binoculars were aimed directly at him. He could feel it. 

 

He looked at Rick again. He knew he wasn’t going to like it, but it was time to wake up and go to work. 

 

Taking a seat beside him, he lifted the pillow to uncover his head. One bloodshot blue eye popped opened, rolled around to look at Negan, then closed again.

 

“ _Rick_ ,” Negan laughed, crawling over top of him until one knee rested against his outer thigh, the other settled happily between his legs. Placing one hand on either side of his head, he leaned in close. “Gareth is watching us from the window. Wake up. It’s time to… do our thing.”

 

Both eyes were open now, wide with alarm.

 

“You can fucking do this, Rick. I know you can.”

 

“I’m scared,” Rick confessed in a hoarse whisper.

 

“So am I,” Negan admitted out loud, surprising even himself. “But, we’re gonna do this like it’s something we do everyday. You’re my husband, and we’re going to make love. Slow and easy. There’s no one watching us. Okay?”

 

Rick opened his mouth like he was about to protest, but then he closed it, consenting with a nod.

 

“I’m gonna need you to trust me completely,” Negan whispered against his ear. From Gareth’s view, it looked like he was kissing Rick’s neck. “My hands will be on you and my body on yours. Parts of  _ me,  _ touching parts of  _ you _ .”

 

Rick could feel Negan’s rock hard bulge as it brushed against him. 

 

“I need you to lie still and give me that freedom. Give me your trust. Can you do that?”

 

Rick closed his eyes tight, releasing a ragged breath. This was entirely too much to ask. He knew, by agreeing and giving Negan total control, by trusting him, he was potentially setting himself up to take another fall. Every bit of common sense and logic he possessed was screaming at him, telling him to get out now. But, before he could bite them back, the words came pouring out of his mouth.

  
“I trust you, Negan.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I want to take a second to apologize for the long wait for this update. I won't bore you with the details, but I've been through some pretty rough shit lately. Shit that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. 
> 
> But... I'm doing what I've gotta do to get through it. I have my good days and bad days. But I'm finally starting to feel like myself again. 
> 
> If I am an avid reader of your work, please know that I haven't forgotten about you or forsaken you. I'm actually looking forward to catching up on all of your wonderful stories! I've missed them so much. 
> 
> Anyway... I hope you enjoy the update. Love you all! *hugs and kisses*

Fear, anticipation and uncertainty all swirled around inside Rick like coils of heavy smoke. He wasn’t sure if these emotions were directly related to last night’s catastrophe, or the idea of actually being attracted to what he was about to do, more so, _who_ he was about to do it with.

 

From the second he walked into the police station, Rick thought Negan was the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on. From his effortlessly stylish dark hair, to the never-ending twinkle of confidence in his eyes. Not to mention that wickedly sexy smile of his.

 

Rick was instantly smitten with the charismatic newcomer. Even though he had never really believed in the cliché of _love at first sight_ , it was the closest thing to it he had ever experienced. That unmistakable spark that _he believed_ had connected their souls together forever. Rick knew in his heart that this wasn’t just _some_ guy. No. He was _the_ guy. The one he had been waiting for.

 

On more than one occasion, he had caught himself losing track of what he was saying or doing because he couldn’t pull himself away from staring at the man. But staring, well that was getting him nowhere. It was time to try and get to know him a little better, on a more _personal_ level.

 

Rick spent two solid weeks trying to work up enough nerve to talk to him. When he finally decided he was ready, he spent the morning before work in front of his steam-clouded bathroom mirror, rehearsing and reciting over and over what he might say to break the ice.

 

With a stomach full of butterflies and two jelly donuts on a paper plate, he perched himself on the edge of Negan’s desk, watching the clock, waiting for him to walk into the station.

 

He was late. A full seventeen minutes late to be exact. Maybe he wasn’t coming in today. Maybe he—

 

The door swung open. He caught a glimpse of two long, lean legs strutting in casually. It was him. This was it. Rick took a deep breath as he watched him walk in his direction.

 

“W-would you like to join me for breakfast?” Despite his nerves, Rick was sporting a smile so big and so bright, it dug out the deep dimples in both of his cheeks.

 

Negan glanced down at the plate in Rick's trembling hand then back up to his _please-say-yes_ , still-smiling face. Returning his smile, making Rick's heart skip a beat, he picked up one of the fried confections.

 

Negan's smile disappeared, his face dissolving into a cold, heartless look. “I _donut_ fucking think so, Officer Assface.”

 

Rick watched incredulously as Negan smashed the fruit-filled pastry hard against his tan and brown uniform shirt.

 

“I'd rather slam my dick in a car door.”

 

Rejected, confused and humiliated, Rick stood stock-still with his mouth open in disbelief, thick and sticky red raspberry filling dripping down onto his freshly polished shoes as Negan walked away, trailing a laugh behind him.

 

And that’s when it all started. The constant torment, harassment, pointless pranks and—

 

“ _Rick_.” Negan rolled him onto his back and crawled up over him, gently settling the bulk of his weight on top of his body. “There you are,” he said, brushing the longer strands of Rick’s sleep-tousled hair back over to one side, smiling down at him. “Hi.”

 

“Hey,” Rick whispered, returning his smile with a forced, crooked grin. “Sorry. I was just uh... just thinking about something.”

 

“Are you scared?”

 

Rick didn't answer.

 

“Don't be scared of this. Of me.”

 

Rick opened his mouth to respond, but the way he was looking down at him, staring at him as if he were _trying_ to find something wrong with him, completely knocked him off kilter.

 

“What is it?” Rick trained his eyes on the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but Negan’s face. “What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Negan softly ran his thumb over the smooth skin just above his stubble-covered upper lip. “It’s just… well I’ve never noticed this little beauty mark before.”

 

“Beauty mark?”

 

 _“_ Yeah. This one _riiight_ here.” His finger landed on the tiniest, most perfect imperfection Negan had ever seen.

 

Rick cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow elevated high in confusion before it registered with him which _mark_ Negan was actually referring to. “Oh, you must be talking about my freckle.”

 

“Well,” Negan laughed. “You're no Cindy Crawford, I’ll tell you that. But _I_ still think it counts as a beauty mark.”

 

One corner of Rick’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Why?”

 

“Because, it's fucking beautiful.”

 

Rick's smile slipped. _This is just part of the act,_ he reminded himself, paying no mind to the sudden whoosh of blood in his veins and the rapid surge in his heartbeat. _That's all this is._ _He doesn’t mean any of it. He’s just trying to—_

Negan framed Rick’s face with his hands, holding it, caressing it as if he were the most fragile keepsake he’d ever had in his possession. “ _You’re_ beautiful.”

 

Rick looked up at him in surprise, his heart beating like a drum in his throat and his eyes darting back and forth between his. He knew those three words meant nothing to Negan _the person_ . Those words came from Negan _the actor_.

 

But even then, after accepting that, acknowledging it for what it was, everything inside of him still wanted to savor every compliment, every last bit of pleasure this job _and_ Negan the actor had to offer, for as long as it lasted.

 

Negan lowered his head, lightly grazing his lips along the sharp line of Rick’s jaw before burying his face in his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh behind his ear, robbing him of his breath and leaving him dizzy.

 

The weight of Negan’s hips prompted Rick to spread his legs and wrap them around Negan's waist. Both arms came up, encircling him as if he no longer had control over them. Hands smoothing over every dip and curve of his back, fingertips grazing up and down the long length of his lean flanks, caressing and massaging every inch of warm, muscular flesh he could reach.

 

The soft, flat of Negan’s warm, wet tongue found Rick’s throat, causing him to groan in sweet agony.

 

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Negan teased with an impish grin.

 

Rick gave him the answer to his question by tilting his head back, giving him better access to his neck. Negan licked and sucked the exposed, sensitive skin covering his Adam’s apple before making his way back down, dipping into the shallow depression at the hollow of his throat.

 

The evidence of Negan’s very real arousal pressed hard and heavy against his own, separated only by two thin cotton barriers.

 

Taking Rick’s arms and holding them hostage by his sides, Negan kept his mouth moving, working his way down his upper body, peppering featherlight kisses on both shoulders, each collarbone, then nibbling at the firm flesh of his pecs.

 

The sweetest sound ever, something somewhere between a heavy sigh and a moan, filled the air around them when Negan’s mouth found one of Rick’s nipples, letting him know he’d definitely found another one of his hotspots. He circled the puckering skin around it teasingly with the tip of his tongue a few times before he pulled the erect flesh between his teeth, giving it a gentle bite.

 

“ _Oh fuck_.” Rick arched his back off the bed as Negan moved his attention over to the other touch-starved nipple, sucking it and nursing it until, it too, had drawn tight into a hard peak.

 

Pulling the small disc of sensitive flesh deep inside the heat of his mouth, Negan began to move, grinding his entire body against Rick’s. Sucking and biting, massaging his body with his own in a sinfully skillful rhythm.

 

“Too much?” Negan asked, feeling Rick tense underneath him. “If I do something that you feel isn’t right, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

 

Negan Walker was on top of him, both of them practically naked, grinding his rock hard cock against his. And it felt good. Of course this _wasn't_ right. Nothing about this was right. God, _all_ of this was too much.

 

Yet, at the same time, deep down inside of him, Rick also knew it wasn’t enough. Pretending would never be enough.

 

As much as he hated it, he still wanted him. He wanted him the way he did when he first saw him. Wanted him to take him in his arms, tell him he’s beautiful and mean it. He wanted him to make love to him. Not for show. For real.

 

But _this_ … this was all he had. He’d be stupid not to enjoy it while he had it. Before everything goes back to the way it was before and Negan... started being Negan again.

 

“ _No_ ,” he whined, pure, raw pleasure fueling the breathless, needy sound of his voice. “Don’t st— don’t stop. We have to make it look real.”

 

As soon as the tight grip on his wrists was released, Rick’s hands were on top of Negan’s head, fingers threading through the reckless spill of dark hair that hung above him, pulling it, guiding him from one nipple to the other.

 

Negan moved lower, leaving a damp trail down the center of his chest, going back and forth, up and down, devoting time to each and every rib, his abdomen and both sides with soft, biting kisses, stopping only where his skin ended, and the cotton fabric covering his lower body began.

 

He ran the palms of his hands along the smooth flesh covering his hip bones, dipping his thumbs under the band of his pool water blue briefs. “I'm gonna take these off now.” Negan lifted his gaze in question, watching Rick, waiting for any sign of hesitation. “Okay?”

 

“It's _okay_ ,” Rick insisted, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip nervously. “ _I'm_ okay. I promise.”

 

Sitting back on his knees, Negan hooked his fingers under the waistband, pulling them past his hips and down his legs. Damn. Negan couldn’t look away. He was mesmerised. He’s seen him naked before, but not like this. Not laid out in front of him in the early morning sun. His eyes wandered about, devouring every last inch on display in front of him.

 

Miles and miles of smooth, hard flesh and muscle. Countless kissable divots and depressions just waiting, inviting his mouth and hands to introduce themselves.

 

And at the center of it all, a heavy length of urgent warmth and need, throbbing against his lower belly. God, it was something else.

 

Fair, smooth skin strained so tight it shined, like a piece of sheer satin stretched over a steel rod. The head swollen and shaded a pretty pink with a faint blush of blood. The way it lurched and twitched as if it had a life of its—

 

“ _Stop_ that.” Rick crossed his forearms over his face, covering his eyes, a flush creeping up and coloring his cheeks, spreading down to his neck and chest.

 

“Stop _what_?”, Negan asked, unsure of what he had done wrong.

 

“ _You_ ,” Rick motioned with his elbow. “That look. You keep looking at me funny. It makes me feel like there's something wrong with…” His voice trailed off under the weight of his arm.

 

 _Just tell him_ , Negan thought. _Tell the boy the truth. Tell him how you’re starting to see things differently. How you're starting to see him differently. Tell him you want to change. Tell him you want a chance to treat him better. Tell him you wish you could take back every assholish thing you’ve ever done to him. For fuck’s sake, just tell him._

 

But the words, they wouldn’t surface. Just like the apology, they lodged in his throat, choking him and cutting off his air supply.

 

It didn't matter, really, what he said or didn't say. None of it would make a bit of difference now. He knew he had a snowball’s chance in hell with Rick. He knew damn well he didn’t deserve one. It was his own fault for treating him like shit. He knew all of that.

 

But ever since he held him in his arms this morning, something felt different. _He_ felt different. The imprint of his body felt as if it had been branded onto his. Nerves alive with memories so powerful, he could still feel him there.

 

Instead of talking, he kept his eyes fixed on Rick as he rose to his feet and pushed his boxers down, allowing his own painfully hard member to escape from its tight confinement. He wrapped his hand around the shaft, giving himself a few languid strokes before discarding the garment altogether.

 

Rick dropped his arms, balling and twisting the sheet beneath him in nervous anticipation, his heart thumping like a sledgehammer as he watched Negan make his way back toward him on the bed. Oh God. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was about to happen.

 

He waited and waited with nothing but silence. No touching, no talking. No _nothing_. Curious, he cracked one eyelid open enough to see Negan hovering over him, still looking down at him the same damn way.

 

Embarrassed by the intense inspection of his naked and exposed body, he felt around on the bed for something to cover himself with. A sheet, a blanket, anything, but all he found was empty space.

 

“Would you please st— ”

 

He gasped sharply. The sudden sensation of cock sliding against cock brought Rick’s overthinking and insecurities to a screeching halt. A brain-melting feeling that made his entire body tingle and stiffen, slowly wiping away and dissolving what was left of his brain function, blocking out all cognizant thought until he was unable to think about _anything_ anymore, only feel.

 

Molding himself under the hard length of his body, Rick could feel every bulge, every rigid edge of muscle as they merged together in a perfect union of strength and tenderness.

 

Negan lowered his head slowly until his lips, those firm, pink lips, that before this case, he never thought he’d get the chance to taste, the same lips that were always used as the vehicle to deliver such cruel and hurtful words, melted into his.

 

 _This_ ... this was _no_ fake kiss. No fucking way. This was real. The passion behind it, the heightened intensity. This was nothing like the forced driveway kisses from before. Warm lips pressing urgently. Tongues tangling, fighting for dominance.  The impact flowed down, buzzing throughout his entire body.

 

Negan broke the kiss, drawing in some much-needed air. Rick lay beneath him panting in shock, his lips still tingling with the memory of his taste.

 

“Damn,” Negan breathed into his mouth, gently resting his forehead against Rick’s.

 

 _Oh my God. He felt it, too._ Rick held his breath, his stomach was fluttering with the feeling of a million tiny wings. _I know he felt it. He had to._

 

“That…”

 

_Yeah?_

 

“That…”

 

_Just say it. Tell me how right that felt to you._

 

“That was some damn fine acting, Rick.”

 

_Acting?_

 

_Of course he didn’t feel anything._

 

“Uh yeah,” Rick replied quickly, only the slightest tinge of disappointment detectable in his voice. “You, too.”

 

Rick fell silent. Was it possible he imagined _all of that_ ? The sparks? The tingles? The passion? Could Negan _really_ be that good of an actor? To make not only Gareth believe it was real, but him as well?

 

“I’ll be right back.”

 

A ice-cold chill prickled Rick’s skin with goose pimples as Negan rolled off of him and off the edge of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a soft thud.

 

“Thought maybe to make this even more bona fide,” Negan said, opening the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out a small bottle. “That we should go ahead and use some—”

 

Negan’s face fell to slack-jawed shock when he turned back around. _Jesus Christ_. Rick was already on his knees and elbows facing the window. Head down, back arched, ass up. His legs were spread wide, allowing his hard shaft and heavy balls to swing freely between them.

 

Remembering who he was, where he was, and that he was being watched, he snapped his mouth shut and scrambled to gather his wits, hoping Gareth hadn’t noticed his reaction.

 

Rick lifted his head hearing the bottle cap click behind him, his ears picking up on the soft, wet noises breaking through the heavy silence of the room. He had to look. Had to see what was happening back there. Swallowing hard, he risked a quick glance over his shoulder.

 

 _Damn_.

 

His quick glance turned into a heavy and hypnotic stare. Negan was stroking himself. Coating his shaft with the clear contents of his little bottle until every last inch of his length glistened in the sunlight.

 

Before he could stop it, Rick could feel the tight swirl of muscle of his ass start to flutter in response, opening and closing eagerly with want and need. He inhaled once, twice, holding his breath, trying to force the desire away.

 

_Stop. This isn't real. Just fucking stop._

 

Rick jumped when he felt two large hands grip him firmly by his bare hips.

 

“You’re okay,” Negan reassured. “Just try and relax. I want you to take a deep breath and push yourself back against me. You’re in control. Okay?”

 

Nodding his head in understanding, Rick filled his lungs with air and exhaled slowly. He eased himself back, back a little more, a little bit more until—

 

“ _Ffffff_.” Rick hissed through his gritted teeth. “ _Fff-fuck_.” Negan’s slick, warm, hard member was right there, pressing against his most intimate area. He looked back again, but this time, he was met with a piercing stare.

 

“Move.”

 

Rick began to bounce his hips up and down, up and down, again and again and again until Negan’s cock was easily sliding between the narrow valley of his cheeks. Curling his hands into fists, he buried his face in the mattress, hoping to stifle his little whines of undeniable pleasure.

 

“Let him hear you,” Negan growled, watching the undulating ripples roll back and forth over the silky skin of his hard cock as Rick’s hot flesh moved against him. “Let the whole goddamn neighborhood hear you.”

 

Rick pushed up on his arms, arching his back and lifting his head. He wanted Gareth to see his face. “Oh _fuck!_ ” Despite the closed window, he was determined for Gareth to _hear_ him, with or without the listening devices. “Oh, God!” he shouted. “You feel so good inside me! That big dick feels _so fucking good_ , baby!”

 

Hearing that kind of talk, coupled with the carnality of Rick’s tone, it was all Negan could do to control himself, to stop himself from driving straight inside the velvety depths of his warm playground.

 

Pushing up even further, Rick pressed his back against Negan’s chest, his hips still working the slick cock held captive inside his cleft. Negan held him tight, one arm around his chest, the other around his stomach.

 

Reaching up and craning his neck, Rick carded his fingers through Negan’s hair, pulling him down in search of his lips. Negan took the hint and covered his mouth with his own, swallowing most of his very realistic, needy moans, a few escaping and echoing through the room.

 

“How am I doing?” Rick whispered, his breath a heavy pant against Negan’s neck.

 

“Are you kidding me? You’re a fucking pornstar. I am impressed.”

 

Negan’s stone-cold heart melted feeling the curve of a full, proud smile on Rick’s mouth, knowing _he_ put it there, his face heating up against his skin. _This is how it could have been_ , Negan thought, leaving a regretful ache in his chest. How it _should_ have been.

 

It was sad, really, that Rick would never know how a handful of minutes of him lying in his arms this morning had changed him. The sensations it had awakened inside of him. He _could_ tell him, he supposed. But why? What would be the point now?

 

After everything he’s done, he was a fool to believe he had anything Rick could ever need or want. No. This would remain a secret, dammed up and locked away inside him for the rest of his life.

 

Enough of this, Negan decided. There was no time for this melancholy bullshit. Not now. What’s done is done. Rick is here, swallowing his hate and getting shit done. Working his ass off to prove to Gareth that they are the real deal. The least he could do was match his efforts.

 

“Turn around,” he whispered.

 

When Rick turned, he was met with eyes so dark and hungry, it sent shivers down his spine. He watched those eyes drop, tracing down the contours of his chest and abdomen, muscles shadowed by the sunlight behind him. Sparks erupted in his stomach as Negan’s arms slid around him, both hands cupping the swell of his ass, repeatedly squeezing and releasing the supple flesh.

 

Negan’s lips hovered over Rick’s, his breath hot and heavy on his face. “M-maybe we shouldn’t—” Rick began but Negan cut him off with a deep, possessive kiss that left him weak and trembling in his arms. Before he had time to catch his breath, Negan kissed him again. Slowly, gently and thoroughly kissed him.

 

Rick swore he could feel passion and true need soaring into him through Negan’s lips. He swore he could feel his heart pounding against his, matching it beat for beat. But this time, this time he knew better. He knew it was all in his head. He would just overlook it. He could easily do that, right?

 

Wrong.

 

They fell onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs and greedy hands, clinging to each other as they rolled and tumbled over the silky sheet, fighting for control until Negan ended up on his back.

 

Rick reared up, sitting on top of him with both hands splayed out across his chest. On his knees, he moved backwards, grinding against him until his slick length slipped back inside the crease  between his cheeks.

 

“You gonna ride me?” Negan asked, a smile spreading across his face. “Well color me thoroughly fucking impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you, Grimes.”

 

Rocking his body and ignoring Negan’s harmless teasing, Rick threw his head back and closed his eyes, letting himself forget. Forgetting about Gareth. Forgetting why he was here. Forgetting everything except the shivers of pleasure that flooded his cock and raced up his spine with each and every thrust.

 

Reaching down, he caught Negan’s wrist and placed his hands against his thigh. “Touch me,” he whispered.

 

“Are you sure about that, Rick” Negan looked down at the shiny trails of precome coating his stomach, the masculine musky smell of sex that hung in the air. “Are you absolutely sure?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Rick whined, his neck straining as the thrusts against his cock grew harder and harder. “I’m not. But just do it anyway. _Please_.”

 

Rick released a long, slow sigh as Negan curled his fist around him, his hand like fire on his sensitive skin.

 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Rick cried out as Negan worked him with his hand, flexing his hips with increasing force, moving in a rhythm that had Negan bucking underneath him. “Yes. _Yes_ . Oh _fuck_ yes.”

 

“Goddamn,” Negan swore under his breath. As he watched Rick’s features contort with pleasure, the knot of tension that had been slowly building since Rick mounted him tightened and unravelled in a rush that he had no control over. “Fuck!” he cried out, feeling the warmth of his own release dripping down his leg.

 

Rick could feel the pressure building inside him. He breathed rapidly, trying everything he could think of to hold it back. It was pointless. He couldn’t stop it. Moaning loudly, he screwed his eyes shut and let it go, grunting as his completion erupted over Negan’s pumping hand, landing on his neck and chest.

 

His exhausted body caved. Like a ragdoll, he fell limp against him. Negan glanced down at his chest, examining the fruits of Rick’s labor.

 

“Thanks for the fucking beautiful pearl necklace,” he joked, rubbing Rick's sweat-drenched back. “But uh, to be totally honest, I’m more of a gold chain kinda guy.”

 

Rick lifted his head, revealing tear-filled eyes and a reddened face. “I’m sorry,” he sniffed. “I-I didn’t mean to. I tr — I tried to hold it back. I’m sorry.”

 

“ _Rick_ ,” Negan started. “I was only—”

 

Rick jumped at a sound just outside the bedroom door. Negan caught him. “Don’t move.”

 

He looked over. Eugene was leaning against the doorframe watching them, eating a dill pickle that he had helped himself to from the jar in their fridge.

 

“What the — get the fuck outta here! Are you fucking stupid? Do you wanna be seen?”

 

“I’ve already done the analyticals in my head,” Eugene replied. “Based chiefly upon my immediate proximity and the location of both windows, the risk of suspect numero uno catching a looksee of my whereabouts is—”

 

“What the fuck do you want?”

 

“I need to install the components for your services up here.”

 

“You couldn’t wait until we were out of bed? Until we, oh I don’t know, maybe put some fucking _clothes_ on?”

 

“Word around the watercooler is that you two were codified to go with an artificially-simulated pseudo rather than actual factual copulation.”

 

Negan took three deep, cleansing breaths, talking himself out of bashing Eugene’s skull in. “I’m gonna say this one more time,” he spoke calmly. “Get the fuck out of here or I will cut pieces off of your mullet and leave them on your friend’s and family’s doorstep.”

 

Popping the last of his pickle into his mouth, Eugene turned and disappeared down the hallway, down the stairs.

 

“I’m never going to be able to show my face at work again,” Rick whispered, still lying on top of Negan. “I’ll have to move. Find a new job. I can’t—”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rick.”

 

“He’s gonna tell everyone what I just did. That I… all over you.”

 

“Don’t you see? You were incredible. You just fooled the smartest fucker on this planet. If he believed it was real… I’m pretty sure Peeping Prick over there did, too.”

 

Rick sighed and rolled over on his side, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Maybe Negan was right. Maybe that's what it would take to make it believable. 

 

“Now, I’m gonna go get cleaned up. While I’m downstairs beating the shit outta Eugene, you can shower then toss the sheets in the washer. After that, I’ll buy you a bowl of Lucky Charms and we can watch Saturday morning cartoons together. Okay?”

 

Rick looked over and stared at him. Cereal and cartoons? Is he serious? After what they just did?

 

He wasted a few seconds thinking about it before a pleased,  happy expression crept up on his face.

 

“Okay.”

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Rick and Eugene avoided eye contact as they passed each other on the stairs. Rick was still a little embarrassed from their unplanned get-together this morning. But he seemed odd, even for Eugene. Almost like he was _afraid_ to look at him as he carried up a roll of coaxial cable to the bedroom. He and Negan must have had that talk. Most likely scenario, Eugene _listened_ , as Negan did the talking.

 

After he tossed the soiled sheets into the washer, Rick joined Negan in the kitchen. He said nothing as he poured himself a cup of coffee, watching him as he collected bowls and spoons with a box of cereal tucked under his arm for their breakfast. He wasn’t sure what to say.

 

He felt great. In truth, Rick was feeling better than he had in a long time. The release of all of that pent-up sexual frustration had done him a world of good. He was teeming with that energy. With a heat, a sexual high that he could still feel vibrating all over his body. But he had no clue how Negan, _the real Negan,_ felt about it. The way he had _used_ his body.

 

He didn’t appear to be angry. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of shame or disgust. As crazy as it sounded, Rick thought Negan looked... _happy_. He watched him, over the rim of his coffee mug, as he opened the fridge and hooked the jug of milk with one finger while he whistled some high-spirited tune.

 

Who was this man? He wasn't acting, he had no reason to. There was no way Gareth could see them from the kitchen. No, this was really him. Then it hit him, _this_ is the man he fell for when they first started working together. The man other people got to see a glimpse of on occasion. But never Rick.

 

He could feel his entire body responding, a strange stirring deep inside his belly because he finally got a small taste of that man. He smiled faintly, hiding it carefully behind his coffee and continued to watch him in awe, secretly appreciating this unprecedented moment.

 

“ _Rick_!”

 

Hearing his name rip through his thoughts, Rick jerked back to reality, sloshing some of his hot coffee onto the tile floor between his running shoe-clad feet. “What?”

 

“Where the hell do you keep disappearing to? I asked you three times if you were ready for breakfast. I swear to _fuck_ I think you’re dealing with some kind of seizure or something.”

 

Rick rolled his eyes and unrolled seven or eight paper towels, wadding them up and running them hit or miss through his spill. “I wasn’t having a seizure, Negan.” He could feel the red color creeping across his cheeks. “I was just thinking about something.” He tossed the soaked towels in the trash before pulling out a stool at the bar and taking a seat.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Negan reminded him. “It’s Saturday morning. We’re having breakfast with some friends of mine.”

 

Rick pushed the bar stool back in place, reluctantly following Negan into the living room. He sat down on the couch, rubbing his hands over his knees awkwardly as Negan poured him an overly sweetened bowl of brightly and artificially colored cereal.

 

“So tell me,” Negan said, eyeing him carefully as he poured the milk. “How long has it been for you, Rick?”

 

The question was so far out of left field, it poleaxed him. Who does that, he wondered. Who brings up someone’s sex life so randomly? After a long pause, he figured he’d better spit out _some_ kind of answer. “Well, I-I don't know exactly. It's, uh, probably about, uh…”

 

“Just give me a rough guess. How long has it been since you’ve had—”

 

“About six months?” Rick said sharply, cutting his question short.

 

“ _Bullshit_!”

 

He hadn’t bought it. Rick could feel himself shrinking into the cushions of the couch, wishing he could just disappear altogether. “M-maybe... maybe closer to a year.”

 

“You haven't had kiddie cereal in a year? Jesus, I can’t imagine. No wonder you're always so goddamn uptight. This shit right here… this could be my fucking three square a day for the rest of my life.”

 

 _Cereal_?

 

“I thought you were asking me about—no. No I haven't had cereal like this in about… eight or nine years.”

 

“What about this?” he gestured toward the TV, the screen showcasing a gun-toting Elmer Fudd who appeared to be hot on the trail of Bugs Bunny. “Has it been that long since you parked your ass in front of some Saturday morning ‘toons?”

 

“Probably longer.”

 

***

 

Negan was well into his second bowl of Lucky Charms while Rick was still busy fishing around in his first, chasing down one marshmallow at a time and slurping it off his spoon. He was bored. He’d seen all of these cartoons at least a couple dozen times back in his cartoon-watching days. But now, well he just didn’t find them funny anymore.

 

Putting his bowl on the coffee table, Rick threw his arms above his head with a loud yawn and stretched. Unable to stomach anymore of Negan’s TV _friends_ , he curled up in the corner of the couch with his legs tucked up under him.

 

His plan this morning was to head out for a long run, but that probably wasn’t a good idea now that he had a belly full of milk and cereal. _No_ , he thought, it would probably be best to digest at least some of the sugar bomb he’d just swallowed first.

 

Whether he meant to or not, Rick found himself watching the manchild on the other end of the couch. It wasn’t long before he caught himself smiling at him, too. Especially when Negan started speaking in the same _good ol’ boy_ drawl and singing “Oh doo-dah day” along with the oversized rooster on the screen.

 

 _This wasn’t bad_ , Rick thought as he lay there, his smile teetering on the edge of laughter. No. This wasn’t bad at all. It sure as hell beat being bullied and belittled.

 

With his cereal now gone, Negan tipped the bowl to his mouth to drink his milk. With a sudden burst of laughter while concentrating on the screen, he spurted out a white mist of it all over the coffee table and himself.

 

That did it. Rick lost it. He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, the couch cushions bouncing beneath him and behind him as his entire body shook.

 

Negan, attempting to catch the dribbles of milk on his chin with his tongue, turned to look at him. “What are _you_ laughing at?”

 

Rick wiped his eyes and shook his head. The laughter faded, but the wide smile splitting his face remained. If anything, that smile only continued to grow bigger, warmer. “Come here,” he said, scooting to the edge of the couch beside him. “Let me help you.” Reaching his hand out, he smoothed his thumb over the milk-speckled stubble on Negan’s chin. “It’ll take more than this to clean up the mess you made on the table.”

 

Catching him by the arm, Negan closed his fingers around Rick's wrist, his gaze sweeping over his face, slowly and thoroughly, as if he were committing every detail to memory. “You look so much like… like _him_ when you smile.”

 

“Him _who_?” Rick questioned, catching a glimmer of hope in those hazel eyes.

 

But that glimmer was short-lived. Rick winced in pain as Negan's grip tightened, his fingertips digging cruelly into his wrist. That small spark of light had transformed into a hard, unwavering angry stare. Rick swallowed down the bitter taste of fear that suddenly surfaced in his throat.

 

“That smile.” The metal spoon in Negan’s bowl rattled as his hands shook with anger, syncopating an ugly rhythm against its rim. “You got _no_ fucking right!”

 

“I don’t understand. What did I—” Before he could finish the question, the glass bowl in Negan's hand exploded against the molding on the wall behind him. Rick threw his arms over his head, protecting himself from the glittering shower of sharp splinters that rained down over him.

 

Uncovering and lifting his head, Rick examined the small fragments of glass that had embedded itself in his forearms. Looking up, he watched Negan take a swipe at the errant tears on his face, his angry expression melting into regret.

 

Guilt and shame mingled with that regret as he noticed the trickles of bright red blood that now lined Rick’s arms. Saying nothing, he turned and walked to the front door, scooping his car keys from the wooden dish on the bookcase on his way out.

 

***

 

Rick stared at the clock next to the bed, watching as the illuminated separator blinked away each second between the hours and minutes. It was 11:47pm. Negan had been out of the house for twelve hours and thirty-four minutes now. Picking at the peeling edges of the band-aids on his arm, he wondered if he was coming back at all.

 

Why the hell should he _care_ whether he did or he didn’t? The man hurled a heavy, glass bowl over his head. He could have done a lot more damage than leave him with a few superficial cuts and scratches on his arms.

 

His heart skipped a beat, an almost audible thump when he heard the front door open and close downstairs. Hearing Negan’s heavy-booted footsteps as he made his way up the stairs, Rick settled deeper under the covers, deeper into his pillow, pretending to be asleep.

 

The bedroom door creaked open, Rick didn’t move. He listened to the sound of Negan’s boots hitting the floor—one, then the other—followed by the soft rustling of fabric as he got undressed. He tensed, but only for a second, when he felt the weight of his body on his side of the bed.

 

The room was calm. Quiet. No noise beyond the steady ebb and flow of their combined, collected breathing. Putting today’s stresses behind him, Rick’s body began to relax. He savored the feeling of slowly drifting away. Peace and tranquility entered his mind, he could feel himself starting to doze—

 

“His name was Ryan.”

 

Rick opened his eyes but made no sound, no movement.

 

“He was absolutely beautiful. You remind me of him. A lot, actually. Especially when you smile.”  Negan laughed faintly, his breath hitching on intake. “ _Goddamn_ that smile. It got him into some trouble from time to time, but he also knew how to use it to get him out.” He laughed again. “I was twenty, and he was seventeen. He was about your height. Same build, around the same weight. His hair was brown, slightly wavy. I remember it would get curly around the edges when he was due for a haircut.” He sighed. “But his eyes, his eyes were more of a blue-gray. Like a stormy sky with flooding rains— _drowning rains_ behind them.”

 

Rick lay still, eyes scanning the dark as he listened, wondering if he would continue.

 

“We were soul mates. One of those _meant to be_ kind of things, you know? God, we were so in love. I’m talking truly, madly, _deeply in love_ , Rick. This was no fucking crush. We were the real deal. Had all these plans mapped out. What we were gonna do once we got our shit in order. Buy our dream house, get married, adopt a few babies.” Negan’s words were getting strained and tight. “We were supposed to be together forever.” His voice broke on the last word, rising to a high falsetto.

 

Rick rolled over then, wrapping his arm around him, resting his head on Negan’s chest. “What happened?”

 

Sobbing hard, Negan pressed his lips against the top of Rick’s head, holding him close against his body with both arms.

 

He sniffed, attempting to get his tears and himself under control. “His parents didn’t know. Didn’t know about _us._ They were so fucking old fashioned. Thought we were just really close friends. He wanted—wanted them to know the truth. Wanted to come out to them, to his family. Asked me to be there with him when he did.” Negan shook his head. “It did _not_ go well. They were furious. His dad… he called me a few choice names, roughed me up a bit, then, more or less, told me to get the fuck out of his house. Said I would never see his son again.”

 

“Did you,” Rick whispered, his breath warm against Negan’s skin. “Did you ever see him again?”

 

“I did. I climbed into his bedroom window almost every night. We made love under the same roof I was forbidden to be under. We went on like that for a month or so, _until…_ ”

 

“Until what?”

 

“He called me one morning, crying, hysterical, I could barely understand him. Said his parents were moving the family out to California. They thought, without me around, Ryan would just, _go back to normal_ or something. He told me he wouldn’t make it without me. He couldn’t. That he’d rather be dead. I told him not to worry. That we would figure something out. We’d leave together if we had to. But he was so upset. I couldn’t reason with him, not over the phone. I told him to sit tight. That I would come over. I could sneak in so we could talk, comfort each other. He said no, he was afraid of what his dad would do to me if he caught me. But I was worried about him, so I went anyway.”

 

Negan was crying again, his entire body shaking with every breath he drew.

 

“I crawled through his window,” he whimpered. “His feet were the first thing I saw. Oh, God. He was hanging from his ceiling fan, Rick. His bed sheets were tied around his neck.”

 

Rick couldn’t hold his own emotions back anymore. He clung tightly to Negan, crying with him.

 

“I was so fucking angry,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “I still am. We could have been together. We could have gone away and _still_ been together. But he left me. Left me here. And I can’t forgive him. I can’t let it go. Do you know what it’s like, to care about someone so much, and hate them at the same time?”

 

“Yeah,” Rick said softly, shakily. “I do.”

 

Negan felt the unintentional sting in his words.

 

“I’m so sorry, Rick. I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“It’s okay,” Rick sighed. “They’re just scratches.”

 

“No,” Negan sniffed, struggling to take in a deep breath. “Not just today. I mean, I _am_ sorry about the glass. I’m _real_ fucking sorry about that. I snapped. But I’m talking about everything. All those times that I—”

 

“It’s _okay_.”

 

“I just—I saw _him_ every time I looked at you. I knew you liked me—of course I knew. But I just couldn’t. I thought, if I was an asshole, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I’ve pushed a lot of people away like that. But you, you just kept taking it and taking it.”

 

Rick was quiet.

 

“But you’re not _him,_ Rick . You’re _not_ Ryan. I can see that now.”

  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Negan always slept in on Sunday mornings. He had developed a habit of rolling out of bed sometime around noon, then lazing the rest of the day away doing absolutely nothing, until it was time to go to bed again.

 

And that was the plan for today, too. It _was_ , until a deafening clap of thunder brought him out of a much-needed deep sleep.

 

“Fuck,” he groaned quietly, attempting to bury his face into his pillow.

 

Feeling the foreign whisper of cool air wafting against his bare feet, he pried his tear-crusted eyes open into two swollen slits and lifted his head. _Shit._ The window was standing wide open. Throwing the sheet back, he slid out of bed and tiptoed over to close it.

 

“Please, leave it open.”

 

Negan whipped back around toward the fatigued voice coming from the bed. “Goddammit, Rick. You scared the shit outta me. I thought your ass was sleeping.”

 

Rick offered no verbal response, just shook his head no and continued to stare out the window.

 

“How long have you been awake?”

 

“Not too long,” he lied. Rick had been awake all night. Tossing and turning. Thinking and overthinking. His heart was racing and his mind was spinning with the _what-ifs_ and the _what-nows._ He couldn’t sleep. With everything that happened yesterday, everything that Negan told him last night, he was _afraid_ to go to sleep. Afraid he might inadvertently make a facial expression or sound that reminded him of Ryan. He didn’t want to trigger him again. Never wanted to see him that angry, or in that much pain again. He knew it was a crazy notion, but he felt responsible. “The thunder woke me up. I just figured I’d stay awake and enjoy it.”

 

“You would be the one,” he said, walking toward Rick’s side of the bed.

 

“The _one_?” Rick questioned, tugging the sheet up higher on his body. “What do you mean?”

 

“Scooch over.” Negan sat down on the edge of the bed and gazed sleepily out the open window with him. “The type of person who _enjoys_ a goddamned noise-making, house-shaking, Negan-waking thunderstorm.”

 

Rick offered a small, breathy laugh. “There’s so much more to it than just noise, Negan. I love the rain. Always have. The sound of each drop as it hits the ground or clatters against the windows and roof. I don’t know. No matter how hard or soft it falls, there’s always a rhythm to it, you know? A simple song that just—it just makes me feel good. Makes me feel safe.”

 

Negan, now looking down at Rick as he spoke, nodded quietly.

 

“And the lightning. See?” He motioned toward the window with his head just as the gray and stormy, early morning sky lit up with electricity. “Every bolt has the power to hurt and destroy anything and everything it touches. Has the ability to kill. But at the same time, it possesses this—this unbelievable beauty.”

 

Negan looked back to the window, the rain was still falling heavily. “Ryan. He loved the rain, too.”

 

Rick’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think of him again. I wasn’t trying to. I didn’t know—”

 

“I know you didn’t know, Rick. You couldn’t have known. And what I said last night, I meant it. You’re not him. I know that. But when you say or do certain things, I can’t help it. I still see him there. I don’t want to, I just do. I miss him.”

 

“You’re looking for him. You can’t keep doing that. It’s time to let him go. You need to say goodbye.”

 

“That’s it,” Negan whispered brokenly, choking back a deluge of unshed tears. “That’s what it is. I never got the chance. Never got that closure. He was already gone when I found him. His parents, they refused to let me come to his funeral. His _funeral_. I’ve never even visited his grave. I don’t know where he’s buried. There was no obituary for him. No announcements. Nothing. It was—it was their way of keeping us apart. They won, Rick. Even at the cost of losing their son. They still won.”

 

Rick’s heart was breaking for him. For the man he both despised and secretly wished he could call his own. If only there was something he could do to help him.

 

Maybe there was.

 

“Use me.”

 

Negan turned to look at him. “What?” There was no way he heard that correctly.

 

“Use me,” he repeated, his expression just as serious as the first time he said it. “Use my face. You said we look alike. You said that you see him when you look at me. Use me to say your goodbyes.” Rolling over onto his back, Rick adjusted himself higher on his pillow. “Say everything to me that you would have said to him that day he—the day he went away.”

 

Negan cocked his head and studied Rick’s face for a moment, certain there was no way this would work. “I can’t do that. I’d just end up feeling—” The rest of his words perished on his lips as he looked down and caught a glimpse of the smile gathering on Rick’s face. It was the same smile he saw yesterday morning. There was no holding back the emotions now as the tears exploded and he fell into his arms.

 

Holding Negan against him tight, Rick felt his heaving sobs against his chest. This release, he knew it had been a long time coming. He smoothed his hands through his long hair and did the only thing he could do. He waited.

 

When the tears finally eased up, Negan lifted his head. Focusing solely on the haunting smile still present on Rick’s face, he traced the outline of his lips with his thumb as he took a deep breath, and reached out to Ryan.

 

“Baby. I miss you so much. Not a day goes by that you don’t cross my mind in some way, shape or form. But I can’t hold onto you anymore. It hurts like hell... but I gotta let you go now. I know. I know I promised you I wouldn’t. But this just isn’t fair to either one of us.” He closed his eyes, his shoulders convulsing in silent cries, trembling as he spoke. “God, I was so fucking angry with you, Ryan. You left me. You hurt me so much. Hell, you fucking destroyed me.” Opening his wet eyes again, he let out a weak sob and took a deep, shaky breath. “But I forgive you. I have to. So that you can rest in peace, and I can finally move on with my life. I want to be happy again. I haven’t been happy for a long, long time. I’ve gotten pretty damn good at faking it, though.” He choked on a small laugh, but his smile was only fleeting. “I deserve to be happy.”

 

Negan’s tear-twinkling gaze left Rick’s smile and landed on his eyes, blue eyes glistening with their own reservoirs of unspilled tears. “I got a new friend. His name is Rick.”

 

_Friend._

 

Rick’s heart melted. He knew he was talking to him now, instead of Ryan.

 

“He deserves to be happy, too. I’ve been a real dick to him. Taking everything out on him, using his misery, the misery that I caused, just so I could feel a little bit better about myself.”

 

The pooling tears in his eyes overflowed, ribbons of water running down, wetting Rick’s face and ears. But his smile, it never slipped.

 

“It’s taken me a long time to forgive and… _try_ to forget the way you made me feel. I just hope it doesn’t take him as long.”

 

The thunder outside their window was only a distant rumbling now. The sun was peeking through the early morning sky, doing its best to burn up and chase away what was left of the dark storm clouds. The trees were shaking themselves dry from the raindrops that had collected on their leaves, and the songbirds were beginning to sing again.

 

Negan turned his gaze outside. Everything looked— _different_. So full of life and energy. The grass was greener, the trees were fuller. The air itself, still blowing through the open window, seemed renewed and refreshed, sweet with a perfume he had never noticed before. Maybe he had just never taken the time.

 

The world, _his world_ , had awakened with a newness of life. His heart felt lighter, and his mind clearer. He knew, he would never completely forget the love he shared with Ryan. But now, at least he could let him go in peace.

 

Looking back to the familiar smile, Negan leaned down and placed a single kiss on the corner of Rick’s mouth. “You rest now, sweetheart. We’ll see each other again. And I dare any fucking body to try and keep us apart. I love you.”

 

***

 

Rick rolled over in the big bed alone, stretching like a fat cat in the afternoon sun. Staring up at the ceiling, he yawned big, scratched his stomach, and yawned again. Throwing a glance over to the nightstand, he gasped in shock when he read the numbers on the clock.

 

He jumped out of bed, reached for the gray sweats that lay crumpled in the floor, and tugged them up his hips. Yawning again, he ran a hand through his hair and walked down the stairs in his bare feet.

 

“Negan?”

 

He wasn’t in either bathroom or in the kitchen. He wasn’t in the living room or on the front porch. His SUV was still parked in the driveway. _Where the hell could he be?_ Opening the back door, he saw him, lazily swinging back and forth in the canopy-covered patio swing, peeling an orange.

 

“Why’d you let me sleep so long?” he asked, padding across the wooden deck. “It’s almost one o’clock.”

 

“You were just sleeping so good. Looked like you needed it, too.” Negan looked up from his freshly-peeled piece of fruit, fighting back the urge to smile at the shirtless, sleepy-eyed man standing in front of him. “But your goddamn snoring wouldn't let me go back to sleep. I had to get the hell out of there.”

 

“Shut up.” Rick sat down next to him, nudging him roughly with his shoulder. “I do _not_ snore.”

 

Handing him a segment of orange, Negan laughed. “Are you kidding me? You sounded like a fucking buzzsaw with pneumonia.” Making an overly exaggerated snorting sound, he tried to emulate Rick’s snoring.

 

A faint shade of embarrassment stole over Rick’s face as he reached out and swiped the rest Negan’s orange. “Sorry. I guess I was tired.”

 

After polishing off the rest of the fruit, Rick wiped his sticky hands on his sweatpants. “I think I’ll get dressed and go for a jog. You wanna come?”

 

“Nope. We gotta go shopping.”

 

“What for?” Rick looked up, his eyebrows suddenly high in suspicion. “I’m not wearing one of those anti-snoring mouth guards, Negan. Just the thought of it makes me gag. I’ll sleep in one of the other bedrooms if it bothers you so—”

 

“No,” Negan laughed and shook his head. “Nothing like that. One of the neighbor ladies came by a little while ago. The whole damn neighborhood is getting together tonight at eight o’clock. Having some kind of potuck, block party thing. A _get to know your neighbors_ party,” he said, using air quotes. “She asked us to bring an entrée and a dessert.”

 

“We don’t _have_ to go, do we?” Rick asked, lowering his voice to a faint whisper. “I mean, what if Gareth shows up?”

 

“That’s exactly why we _should_ be there,” Negan answered quietly, glancing up toward Gareth’s house. “We should interact with him. Wiggle the worm in front of him a little more, if you will. So far, he’s been nothing but a fucking pervert.”

 

Rick swallowed nervously, staring up at Gareth's house as the swing gently swayed them back and forth.

 

“It’ll be okay, I promise. What do you say you help me make my legendary lasagna?”

 

“I can’t cook, Negan. I eat pre-packaged foods or out of the grocery store deli and restaurants.”

 

“Well, we’ve got over seven hours. I could—I could maybe teach you a couple things. If you can use a knife and boil water, then you can make lasagna.”

 

“I actually burned up a pot of boiling water once.” Rick directed his gaze toward him for a moment, then back to the deck beneath his bare feet. “Are you, uh, are you feeling okay now? Better, I mean?”

 

“I’m feeling better than I have in a long fucking time, Rick. Thanks to you.”

 

“But is it—is it okay for me to smile now? I don’t want to upset you anymore.”

 

“You smile all you want to, Rick. I'm okay. _We're_ okay.”

 

***

 

The kitchen smelled incredible. The air was filled with the enticing aromas of garlic, onion and fresh herbs. Negan was right. Putting together a large pan of lasagna wasn’t really all that difficult. A lot of time, chopping and stirring, but the end results certainly looked to be worth it. He couldn’t wait to try it. His mouth was already watering.

 

“Ready to make some dessert?”

 

Rick nodded eagerly, watching Negan lay his ingredients out on the island. Eggs, rum, sugar, vanilla, heavy cream, mascarpone cheese and a strong pot of freshly brewed coffee.  

 

“I don’t think this really counts as cooking,” Negan said, flinging his kitchen towel up over his shoulder, pulling four packages of lady fingers out of the grocery bag. “But it sure fucking tastes like you spent all damn day on it. You ever had Tiramisu, Rick.”

 

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never tried it.”

 

“Oh, you’re gonna love it.” Negan poured some hot coffee into a bowl and added a good amount of dark rum to it, whisking it together as he talked. “This shit right here, _damn_ , it’s second only to sex. We’re gonna double up just so we can have an entire pan all to ourselves. Because I can guaran-fucking-tee, there won’t be a scrap of this left after the party.”

 

When the custard mixture had cooled and the whipped cream was folded in, Negan trusted Rick to put the dessert together under his instructions, dipping the lady fingers into the drunken coffee, and layering it with the custard and whipped cream mixture. Resisting the urge to lick his fingers, Rick washed his hands at the sink.

 

After sprinkling the freshly layered Tiramisu with a generous dusting of cocoa powder, Negan covered the two pans with plastic wrap and put them in the refrigerator to chill and set.

 

Turning around, wiping his hands clean with his kitchen towel, Negan puzzled at the disappointment currently unfolding across Rick’s face as he stood there with a fork in his hand.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I thought you said one of those desserts was just for us.”

 

“Well, it is. But it needs at least a four hour siesta in the fridge. It’s gotta do its fucking thing, Rick. Patience is a goddamned virtue. Anyone ever tell you that?”

 

Without a word, Rick put his unused fork back in the drawer and turned to load the sinkful of dirty pots and pans into the dishwasher.

 

“Here,” Negan picked up the dirty bowl and gathered the creamy remnants of custard on the tips of his fingers. “There’s just enough left for you to have a taste.”

 

Rick hesitated, but walked over to the island, opening his mouth to accept the offering. Negan, who still had to be Negan, ran his tongue over his wickedly grinning lips and smeared the custard across his face.

 

“You ass!”

 

Negan threw his head back and filled the entire kitchen with his powerful, noisy laughter. “I couldn’t help myself, Rick. You know a leopard don’t change his fucking spots.”

 

Rick walked to the backdoor and folded his arms across his chest. With set eyes, he stared blankly through the small window panes on the door.

 

“Aw _c’mon_ ,” Negan pleaded. “Don’t be like that. I was only playing around. I’ll get you a paper towel and clean it off. Yeah?”

 

Rick sighed. Dropping his arms in a forgiving gesture, he turned around and nodded. “Would you wet it? It—it’s a little sticky.”

 

“Sure.” Negan tore a few paper towels from the roll and faced the sink as he folded them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—holy shit goddamn!”

 

The triumph on Rick’s face was immeasurable. _Salt in my coffee. Thumbtacks in my chair._ He was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes, the sound was almost musical.

 

Negan turned around. He was red in the face and soaked from head to waist. “I’m fucking _soaked._ ” He growled, adding a beefy inflection to his voice. “You think you’re pretty funny, huh?”

 

Rick eyed him carefully as he walked toward him, his laughter dying when Negan picked up the dirty bowl sitting on the island. He worried he was about to flip his shit again, until he saw the faint smile playing on his lips.

 

“Didn’t know you had a pair big enough to try something like that, Rick.” Negan carried the bowl over and dropped it in the sink. “I’m fucking impressed. But mark my words, I’ll only let that shit slide _once._ ”

 

“Oh,” Rick answered, nodding his acknowledgement. “Don’t worry, it’s all out of my system now. Besides, I’d say we’re even.”

 

Negan dried his face with the kitchen towel and threw it back over his shoulder. “I better check on my lasagna.”

 

“Um,” Rick pointed behind Negan, indicating to the sink. “That custard is pretty sticky. You really should fill that bowl with water so it’ll be easier to clean.”

 

Without thinking, Negan turned around and turned the faucet wide open again. With Rick’s rubber band still attached to the sprayer, he was doused in the face a second time.

 

“ _Rick_! Goddammit!”

 

Rick doubled over in a fit of frenzied, wheezing giggles. “ _Twice_!” he choked out, holding up two fingers on one hand, clutching his overworked stomach muscles with the other. “You fell for it twice!”

 

Looking up to see the drenched man charging after him, Rick turned to run, but he was too slow, Negan already had him by the waist.

 

“Let me go!” Rick struggled, still giggling. “You’re getting me all wet! I’m sorry!”

 

“You’re _gonna_ be sorry,” Negan laughed, pulling and tugging on Rick’s clothes, trying to get him to the sink for a taste of his own wet medicine.

 

“Don’t you dare!”

 

Between their tussling, struggling and the wet floor under their feet, they both ended up in the floor, Negan on top, Rick on the bottom with his arms pinned above his head.

 

“I’m s-sorry,” Rick gasped, fighting to get his breath. “I just wanted to see what the pranks felt like, you know, on the other end. Not so fun when you’re the receiver is it?”

 

Negan glanced down at Rick, who was still wearing the big glob of custard goo on his face. “No. I guess it’s not. You’re quite a guy, Rick.”

 

“Why is that? I just soaked your ass, twice.”

 

“Well, you have this way of making me see things. I’m not so sure I approve of _this_ method,” he chuckled. “But you open my eyes. You make me…”

 

“Make you what?”

 

“You make me… _better_. You make me want to be a better person. A good person, like you.”

 

Rick looked up, meeting Negan’s eyes, his heart about to burst out of his chest. This was no act. No, this was really happening.

 

Negan leaned closer. Closer. Closer still. Their warm breath mingling together, lips nearly touching. Rick reached up, placing a shaky hand at the back of Negan’s neck, inching him closer until his lips brushed the surface of his.

 

When the blaring of the smoke alarm brought them both back down to earth, Rick was left chasing after a pair of lips that had vanished into thin air.

 

“Shit!” Negan hissed, now running toward the oven. “My lasagna!”

 

Rick, still lying on the floor, stared up at the flashing smoke alarm on the ceiling. If he wasn’t so disappointed, he would laugh at the irony. His heart raced, the passion he felt between them still buzzed inside him, fanning the flames he had always known were there, but life always managed to find a way to put out.


	8. Chapter 8

“Is this okay?” Rick stepped into the living room, wiping his sweaty, nervous hands off on a pair of tight, faded blue jeans. The white, slim fit button down he had on was untucked with the first three buttons undone. “I just—I don’t know if I’m overdressed for a block party or—or if I’m underdressed for this damn neighborhood. What do you think?” He waited, his eyes drawn together in a tight squint, hoping to ward off his impending onslaught of opinions.

 

Negan choked back a laugh. Rick was something else. Here he was, ready to attend a block party with a man who had, more than likely, murdered a half a dozen men. Yet, he stood in front of him with sweaty palms and a stomach full of butterflies, worried about making a good first impression on a group of neighbors... who weren’t really his neighbors.

 

“You know, we’re not exactly going to this thing to impress the hoity-toities and the la-di-fucking-das of Snooty Street, Rick. We got a job to do, remember?”

 

Rick wrinkled his forehead, a confused, incredulous look on his face. “I _do_. Of course I do. But, we can’t exactly go out there acting like a couple of cops, now can we? As far as these people know, we’re just the newest addition to their swanky little neighborhood. We have to blend in. Be one of them.”

 

“Yeah,” Negan agreed, nodding his head. “I guess you’re right. Either way, though, you look great.”

 

***

 

Negan stood at the front door holding the bubbly hot lasagna, protecting his hands with a pair of flame print oven mitts that read _Hot Shit_. “You ready?”

 

Rick, balancing the dessert between his right forearm and bicep, closed his eyes and blew out a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

 

Locking the front door behind them, Rick blew out one final deep breath and hooked his left arm around Negan’s bent elbow as they made their way down the steps and headed in the direction of the small crowd gathering outside one of the houses.

 

“You remember our story, right? We don’t wanna blow our cover by fucking up small details about how we met and shit.”

  
“I remember. We met at that little coffee shop down—” Rick’s heart rolled over in his chest. “He’s here. Oh shit. He’s actually here. I don’t feel so good, Negan. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

 

“Listen to me,” Negan whispered through his tightly clenched teeth. “Do you really think he's stupid enough to try and fucking kill us in front of all these people? That’s not how serial killers operate. You know that. Now stop shaking my arm before you make me drop this hot lasagna. Put your smile on. It’s game time. We got one headed our way.”

 

“Negan!” An auburn-haired woman with a small frame and a big voice was advancing toward them, a cordial, practiced smile on her face. “So glad you could come. This must be Rick. You’re every bit as handsome as your husband said you were.”

 

Feeling his body relax and his cheeks grow warm with the compliment, Rick flashed a sweet smile that lifted his dimples to his cheeks. “Thank you.” He glanced up, wordlessly thanking Negan, too.

 

“I’m Deanna Monroe. Come on. I want you to meet my family.”

 

They dropped their contribution off at the food table and followed Deanna through the small crowd, Rick purposely avoiding eye contact with Gareth as they walked past him.

 

“This is my husband, Reg. Sweetheart, I’d like you to meet Rick and Negan Walker, our newest members in the community.” After a short exchange of handshakes and hellos, Deanna gestured to the two young men standing by her husband. “These are my boys, Spencer and Aiden.”

 

Negan, offering the two younger men nothing more than a quick lift of his chin, made his mind up fairly quickly about her sons. He didn’t like them. In the few words they had spoken, he picked up on their cockiness and arrogance immediately.

 

But Rick, he liked their mother a lot. She had him eating right out of the palm of her hand with all of her flattering remarks and well placed compliments. He found her husband to be likeable as well. He seemed like a kind and gentle, intelligent man.

 

“ _Hello_.”

 

Feeling a small tug at the tail of his flannel button-up, Negan turned to the source of the small voice behind him. “Well _hello to you too_ , darlin’.” He bent down and scooped the little girl up in his arms. “Who is this cutie-pie?”

 

“Ah,” Deanna cooed, stroking the girl’s long blonde hair. “I see Judith here got a little impatient in meeting the two of you. Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?”

 

“She’s over there with Jessie,” Judith answered, focussing her attention on Negan’s eyebrow piercing. “You have an earring in your face,” she stated, poking at the sensitive, still-healing tissue. “Did it hurt?”

 

“Nah, not re- _really_ ” Negan’s painful winces must have gone unnoticed to the girl, as she continued to poke and prod at the small steel balls, tapping her tiny fingernails against the metal surface, enjoying the sound it made. “You like it? It’s—” he sucked a painful breath between his teeth. “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

 

“Uh- _huh_. I have my ears pierced, see?” She tucked her hair back behind her ears, proudly showing off her small ruby studs. “But I want one of these.” She went back to tapping the jewelry around Negan’s eyebrow. “It looks so badass.”

 

Rick looked at Negan. Negan looked at Judith. Judith looked at Deanna.

 

“ _What_?” she asked, shrugging her little round shoulders curiously. “That’s what my daddy says all the time.”

 

With wide eyes and tight lips, Deanna did her best not to laugh. “Shall we go say hi to Judy’s parents, then?”

 

Behind Deanna’s back, Rick and Negan lost it, Negan shaking with silent laughter as he hoisted Judith high up on his shoulders. “You’re a kid after my own heart, darlin’.”

 

The smile on Rick’s face remained as he watched Negan, skipping and running along, bouncing Judith on his shoulders, both of them laughing hysterically. Never in a million years would he have pictured him being such a natural with kids. Although, in hindsight, it made absolute perfect sense. Negan was a big kid himself when he wanted to be, which was the majority of the time.

 

They followed Deanna to a large sycamore tree, where two couples were sitting under its protective shade, laughing and talking, all fawning over a tiny white blanket-wrapped bundle in the young brunette woman’s arms.

 

“Anyone missing a member of their tribe over here?” Deanna laughed, approaching the two couples.

 

“ _Judith!_ ” the brunette woman cried, embarrassment tinting her fair cheeks. “I’m sorry if she bothered you all. She likes to disappear on me sometimes.”

 

“She was no bother at all,” Negan said, lifting her high into the air before gently putting her down on the ground. “Why, we were just over there talking about getting her eyebrow pierced. She’s certain it’ll be okay with you guys.”

 

Everyone enjoyed a laugh at Judith’s expense before she darted off to play with a few other kids nearby.

 

“Come,” Deanna offered, rubbing Rick’s back after taking note of his tight-lipped, withdrawn behaviour. “Let me introduce you to everyone. This is Jessie and Pete, Pete’s a surgeon. Shake those hands carefully,” she joked. “They are his livelihood after all. And _this_ ,” she gestured to the other couple with the baby. “This is Lori, Shane, and their newest member, Shawn. Everyone, say hello to Rick and Negan Walker.”

 

Rick took a seat in the grass next to Lori. He knew, judging by the size of the crowd, that it wouldn’t be long before they were being introduced to Gareth. Although he knew it was fruitless, he decided to try and buy themselves a little more time before the inevitable happened anyway. “How old is he?”

 

Lori turned around, a bright smile lighting up her pretty face. “He’ll be three weeks old tomorrow.”

 

“C-can he do anything yet,” Rick asked, his knowledge of babies being extremely limited.

 

“He eats, sleeps and shits his pants.”

 

“Shane!” Lori’s eyes were wide before turning apologetic. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. He has a bad habit of blurting out whatever’s on his mind.”

 

“Mine too,” Rick laughed, winking up at Negan.

 

“You want to hold him?” she asked.

 

“Me?” Rick’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Are you sure? I mean, I’d love to, but, you don’t even know me that—”

 

Before Rick could finish his babbling, Lori was filling his arms with the small, warm bundle of soft, wiggly life. His breathing stuttered. “Oh my, God. He’s so—he’s so little.”

 

Negan sat down beside him. “Looks good on you, baby. Maybe we should get us one. What do you say?”

 

Rick smiled. Shawn opened his eyes and, although it was nothing more than a newborn reflex, smiled back at him. “He’s smiling at me. _Look_. He’s smiling.”

 

“Well why wouldn’t he,” Negan whispered, placing a soft kiss on Rick’s temple. “That face of yours, it’s damn near impossible not to.”

 

“Looks like you two might have a little competition around here,” Jessie joked, looking at Lori and Shane. “These two might just out-cute you both.”

 

“How long have you been married,” Pete asked, taking a sip of his beer. “No wait.” He wiped a dribble off of his chin with the back of his hand. “Let me guess. A couple of months? You’re way too lovey-dovey to be anything other than newlyweds.”

 

“We’re coming up on two years soon,” Negan answered while making faces at the baby.

 

“How did you meet?” Deanna questioned. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

 

Negan looked at Rick and smiled. “It was a goddamn stroke of luck—for me anyway. It was piss-pouring the rain outside. I ducked into this little coffee shop downtown. Just a dry place to wait out the storm, you know, at least until the rain let up some. Well, I was soaked to the bone. I was scrambling, trying like hell to get to a place where I didn’t flood the shop’s floor, not paying attention to where I was going. I bumped into somebody. He had a jelly donut in his hand.” He laughed. “I smashed that damn thing all over the poor guy's chest. Naturally, I felt awful. I went to apologise, but I—I choked. I couldn’t speak after looking into those incredible blue eyes of his.”

 

Rick looked up to see everyone smiling, listening attentively to Negan’s story.

 

“After he got _most_ of the jelly off of his shirt, we sat down at a booth together and—we just started talking. We got lost in each other’s stories. Before we knew it, they were closing the shop on us. The rain had stopped and neither one of us was ready to say goodbye. So, we went for a walk and—we just kept walking and talking until we couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. We made a date to meet the next evening. The rest is, as they say, history. But I knew, before we parted that first night, that he was it. He was the one for me. The only thing I would ever need or want for the rest of my life. I’ve been in love with him ever since I covered him in raspberry jelly.”

 

Rick’s eyes, though he made a feeble attempt to hide it, were filled with tears. He had heard this story before. They had practiced it, rehearsed it all evening. But, something in his voice this time, it just sounded, different. It sounded like… like he meant it.

 

Rick looked around again, keeping his head down as much as he could. He soon learned that he wasn’t the only one with tears in his eyes. Lori, Jessie and Deanna, they were all misty-eyed, too.

 

He turned to Negan. His intentions were to laugh it off, try and make light of it and change the subject. But when he was met with those big, black-lined, watering hazel eyes, he lost control of his tears. “I—” He caught his lip between his teeth, catching himself before the other two words slipped out. He knew, if he said them right now, he wasn't sure if he'd be acting, or telling him the truth. “I need a tissue,” he laughed, the baby’s blanket soaking up the ones that fell.

 

“Mommy,” Judith came running back. “I’m hungry. Can I have something to eat now?”

 

“That’s an excellent idea,” Deanna said, blotting the corner of her eyes with her fingers. “Let’s eat.”

 

***

 

The sun had set and the sky above was a deep rich blue. The party, now softly illuminated by the flickering flames of tiki torches, citronella candles and the occasional flash of a firefly, was just getting started. Rick was eating alone at a picnic table, Negan’s partially eaten plate of food sitting beside his as he had ran off to help rescue Judith’s bouncy ball from a bouncy ball-eating tree.

 

“A little birdie told me that you made the lasagna.”

 

Startled, Rick looked up, the forkful of broccoli salad he had just shoveled into his mouth nearly spewing back out. It was Gareth. Though barely chewed, he forced it down his throat with a big gulp of lemonade, nearly choking himself in the process.

 

“Sorry,” Gareth breathed through his laughter, inviting himself to sit down in front of him. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just wanted to come over and compliment you on that delicious lasagna you brought, and to finally meet my cute next door neighbor.”

 

Rick coughed and sputtered into his red-checkered paper napkin. “It’s okay,” he finally managed, wiping his mouth and clearing his throat. “My—my husband actually made the lasagna. His name is Negan. I’m Rick.”

 

“Gareth,” he replied, offering his hand across the table. “So, you two are married, huh?”

 

“Almost two years, yeah. Been saving up to move into our dream—”

 

“What happened to your arms?” Gareth questioned, cutting him off. “All of those scratches?”

 

Rick had gotten a little warm while waiting in the food line earlier. Forgetting all about the accidental cuts from the bowl shattering over his head, he rolled the sleeves up on his shirt. “Oh, I uh...” _Say something, stupid._ “I—I was planting a rose bush out back. The thorns. They—they got me.”

 

“Oh, okay.” Gareth took a long, slow sip from the beer bottle in his hand, keeping his eyes locked on Rick’s as he did. He swallowed and swiped his tongue across his bottom lip. “I was hoping it was something like that. You see, I heard some shouting from your direction a day or so ago when I was out in the driveway working on my truck. I was just _afraid_ …” he trailed off.

 

“ _No_ ,” Rick insisted, laughing at the accusation. “My husband, he’s loud sometimes, but not in a mean way. He would never.”

 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Gareth swallowed another mouthful of beer. “I detest violence, Rick. Especially when it’s directed at someone as pretty as you.”

 

Rick, now squirming in his seat, looked over to Negan. He was still up in that damn tree.

 

“Can I get you a refill on that—what are you drinking there, sugar? That lemonade?”

 

_Sugar?_

 

Gareth’s very presence was enough to make Rick’s skin crawl, but the words coming out of his mouth nauseated him. “No. Thank you, but I’m—I’m fine. Honey!” Desperate, Rick called out to Negan. “I want you to meet my husband before you _go_.” He emphasized the last word, hoping he would take the hint and take his leave.

 

Gareth leaned forward, cupping his hand over Rick’s knee under the table. “Maybe some other time, doll.”

 

Rick gasped, sitting frozen in fear.

 

Gareth let his fingers trail over his denim-covered leg, dancing and crawling to his upper thigh, giving it a few playful squeezes. “If you ever need me for _anything_ , all you gotta do is ask. You know where to find me.” With a wink, he walked away.

 

The hair on the back of Rick’s neck prickled to attention. He could feel his dinner touching the back of his throat now, threatening to come back the same way it went in.

 

***

 

Rick was standing in the bedroom window when Negan came in, his forehead pressed flat against the pane.

 

“You gonna tell me what’s up your ass or not?” Negan asked, turning on the light and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Look. I know something is eating at you, and I know it has something to do with that asshole over there. You were fine up until I saw him talking to you. He say something I need to know about?”

 

“He said plenty.” The hot air from Rick’s breath was fogging up the window. He raised his hand, lazily wiping it away with the sleeve of his shirt.

 

“Well feel free to fucking enlighten me anytime now. What the hell did he say?”

 

“He...” Rick sighed. “Nevermind. I’m probably just making something out of nothing.”

 

“The way you’re acting right now, I have reason to believe other-fucking-wise. _What did he say, Rick?”_ he repeated, raising his voice out of frustration.

 

Rick whipped his head around, his eyes full of worry. “He wants to fuck me.”

 

Negan sat on the bed, blinking back at him in shock, unsure of what to say.

 

“He didn’t say it so many words,” Rick continued. “But he damn sure implied it. He scares me, Negan. Makes me uncomfortable. The way he talked to me. The way he touched me.”

 

“Wait.” Negan bolted back up on his feet. “He put his fucking hands on you?”

 

Rick nodded. “But it was more what he _said_ when he did it.” He looked back, spotting a dark figure as it moved slightly in Gareth’s window. “He said, _‘If you ever need me for anything, all you gotta do is ask. You know where to find me.’_ We both know what he meant by that.” He watched Negan through the reflection in the window as he walked toward him. “He’s over there right now. Watching.”

 

“Well.” Negan pressed his near-naked, underwear-clad body up against him from behind, his hands reaching around, gliding over the fabric of Rick’s shirt, fingers kneading the tightening buds of his nipples through the thin material. “Maybe we should give him something to watch.”

 

Rick reached his hand up, hooking it around the back of Negan’s neck, urging his mouth closer to his skin.

 

Negan dipped his head, his eyes on the sloping hollow between Rick’s neck and shoulder where his pulse was beating strong. “But I swear to God Rick,” he growled, watching as Rick’s heartbeat quickened, his blood flowing hot and eager as his warm breath ghosted over his skin. “If he ever lays another finger on you again…I’ll fucking kill him.”

 

Rick let his head fall back, resting it on Negan’s shoulder. Even with Gareth's eyes on him, after everything he said tonight, he had never felt as safe as he did right now. The magnitude of that protective promise shuddered through his entire body.

 

Negan’s fingers began to work at Rick’s buttons, releasing them one at a time until he could push it open, placing his hands against the warmth of his chest. “I want to undress you, right here in this window, Rick. Give that sick motherfucker a good look at everything that he can’t have.”

 

“Yes,” Rick whispered huskily, arching his back, grinding his rough denim-covered backside against the already partially swollen dick inside the boxer briefs behind him.

 

With a hiss, Negan ripped the remaining buttons apart, sending them to ricochet off of the window panes, bouncing in different directions on the wooden floor beneath them.

 

Rick put his arms down, letting the torn shirt fall easily from his chiseled shoulders. Goosebumps popping up instantly as Negan’s arms wrapped around him, calloused hands moving across the skin of his chest, down to his stomach.

 

He gasped softly as those hands moved lower, fingers skimming over the muscles that were peeking out from under his waistband before he unsnapped his jeans, unzipping them and spreading them open to display the dark tuft of neatly trimmed hair.

 

Rick looked up, Gareth was still there, the faint, dark outline of his silhouette unmoving in the unlit window. _What was he watching him with,_ he wondered. _How close was he zoomed in on him?_ Unable to face him anymore, he turned, filling Negan’s arms with a kittenish bundle of warm flesh and denim. “I can’t look that way while he’s watching me, Negan. I just can’t.”

 

“It's alright,” he whispered, his hands sliding down the hard muscular lines of Rick’s back, skin already slick with a thin sheen of sweat. “You don't have to.”

 

His hands dipped lower and lower, moving down until his fingers slipped beneath the layers of denim and cotton. Negan gripped the swollen curves of his ass in his hands, pushing his jeans down, revealing a teasing peep of cleavage from Rick’s sweet divide.

 

“Please,” Rick begged, his voice a low, expiring strain. “Get them off.”

 

Getting down on his knees, Negan tugged the tight denim past his hips, his red, swollen cock popping out just inches from his face, the veins on his shaft bulging a deep purple color.

 

Rick stepped out of his jeans and tangled his fingers into Negan’s thick black hair, urging his mouth closer.

 

But Negan, he just wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t. Not like this.

 

He turned his head, leaving Rick’s aching cock to twitch and rub against his bristly cheek, a sweet silky bead of desire spilling out, wetting his face. The heat of his velvety flesh felt hot enough to blister Negan’s skin. Hot enough to scar him permanently.

 

Rick pumped his hips regardless, acting his way through it. Throwing his head back. “Fuck!” Moaning and shouting loud enough for Gareth to hear him through the closed windows, with or without the aid of a listening device. “Oh, fuck yes! Yes!”

 

Negan reached around him, filling his hands full of Rick’s round ass cheeks, squeezing them, pulling them apart for Gareth to get a teasing glimpse of that tight puckered hole, before taking it away again.

 

“Take me to the bed,” Rick whispered, his voice raw and strained.

 

Negan rose to his feet and lifted Rick off the ground, wrapping his legs around him, trapping their throbbing cocks together, heat sliding against heat between their stomachs as he moved. He dropped him at the foot of the bed, landing on top of him with a grunt, feeling the heavy thud of his pulse against his lips.

 

Using his tongue, he mapped out every single ridge of muscle from Rick’s chest to his lower belly, gathering a taste of the slippery, liquid want their cocks had left on his stomach.

 

“Fuck,” Rick moaned heavily, his fingers tangling themselves in Negan’s hair again, desperately trying once more to urge him lower.

 

“ _Rick_.” Negan pulled away.

 

Rick looked up, his eyes heavy-lidded and filled with lust, confusion littering his face. He could see the want and desire in Negan’s features. He could feel it as his searing hot sex twitched and throbbed against his stomach. “Why can’t we?”

 

Negan offered no response. He wanted it. Hell, he _needed_ it. But he just couldn’t. He knew they couldn’t jump from what they were, straight into this. It wasn’t right. Rick deserved better that. _They_ deserved better than that.

 

“Okay,” Rick said, laughing to mask his hurt and embarrassment. “I’m stupid for thinking that _we_ could _ever_ —I mean—you and _me_?” He laughed again, swatting away a tear with the back of his hand.

 

Negan raised his hand to his own mouth, spitting in it, slicking himself before settling between Rick’s spread legs, burying his cock in the crease of his hip joint.

 

Rick wiped away another tear before reaching around to grip Negan’s ass, gently pushing him back and forth. “Oh fuck me!” he cried, pushing Negan faster, wanting to get this over with. “Fuck me harder! Yes!”

 

Driven by his whimpering and loud moans, he humped his body harder, faster, grunting as he arched back, fucking himself inside the crease of his leg. “Fuck, baby! You’re so tight!”

 

Rick reached down, taking a hold of his own length, his hand flying rapidly in search of his release. ‘Yes!” he hissed, feeling his balls draw tight against his body. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”

 

“Come on, baby!” Sweat trickled off of Negan’s nose as he looked down, watching Rick as he stroked himself into oblivion. He was so close. “Come for me!”

 

“Fuuuuck!” he yelled, gripping the sheets at the height of his climax, shooting rope after rope of hot, white release onto his convulsing stomach.

 

Negan’s cries of pleasure blended with his as he took his cock in hand, giving it the last few strokes he needed. “Shit!” His entire body shook as his load combined with Rick’s sticky mess. After catching his breath, he disappeared into the bathroom, emerging with a wet washcloth.

 

Rick, who still hadn’t moved, jerked his eyes open with a start when the cold cloth hit his abdomen.

 

“Sorry,” Negan offered, laughing under his breath. “It _was_ warm. I swear.”

 

After getting him cleaned up, he tucked him under the sheets and crawled in beside him. Rick, too embarrassed to face him, made an attempt to curl up and face the window, but Negan caught him, gathering him up in his arms, holding him there.

 

“Please,” he whispered, trying to pull away from him. “I just wanna go to sleep.”

 

“No,” Negan argued, trying to coerce a very stubborn Rick to rest his head on his chest. “Not like this. We need to talk.”

 

With a sigh, Rick gave in and sank into his embrace, the steady thump of his heartbeat soothing him. “We don’t need to talk, Negan. I get it.”

 

“I don’t think you do.” Negan smoothed the long hair back out of Rick’s face. “I don’t think you get it at all, baby.”

 

 _Baby?_ That got Rick’s attention… but he kept his head against Negan’s chest, listening to him as he talked.

 

“I like you, Rick. I do. But you’ve got to understand something here. I’ve had two fucking years to be a complete and utter asshole to you. I’ve tripped you. Made you sit down on an assful of tacks. Ruined your food, your coffee with salt, hot sauce and laxatives. Hell, Rick, I superglued your fucking fingers to the damn toilet flusher.” He laughed, shaking Rick up and down as he did. “And you _still_ helped me with the start of getting over something that ripped the goddamned heart right out of my chest. You have no _idea_ how much better I feel after being able to let some of that shit go.”

 

He pulled Rick’s naked body closer, rubbing his back with his thumbs. “I see you as a different person as before, Rick, after being with you here. A person that I wanna get to know. I could easily bend you over this bed and fuck you until you until you scream for mercy. But before anything like that happens, I want the chance to treat you decent. The way you should have been treated from the start.” He felt a teardrop hit his skin, then another before hearing Rick sniff. “Will you give me that chance? You don’t have to. God knows I don’t fucking deserve it. But will you? Will you give me that second chance? A brand new start. You know, besides the fact that we still have to pretend to be happily married and fuck like bunny rabbits.”

 

Rick’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. He looked up, blue eyes searching hazel. “You like me?”

 

“I do. Yes, I fucking do. Now, what about answering my question? Can I have another chance with you? Can we get to know each other?”

 

“Yes,” Rick nodded, a fresh crop of tears glistening in his eyes. “I want a second chance.”

 

“Thank you.” Negan wrapped him up in a tight, bear hug. “We’ll get started in the morning. There’s someplace special I wanna take you. Our first date.”

 

Rick smiled and settled comfortably against him as Negan reached out and turned out the light. _Our first date._

 

“Rick?” Negan pulled the blanket up, covering their heads. “One more thing.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“And this one is none of _his_ fucking business.” Before Rick could question him, Negan’s lips closed over his.

 

It was just a kiss. Nothing more than their lips touching, really. But it left Rick breathless. Completely overwhelmed. Something so simple, so uncomplicated, had him reeling from his lips to his toes. It was their first _real_ kiss.

 

“Goodnight, Rick.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Why can’t you just tell me where you’re taking me?” Rick asked, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I hate surprises.” He pulled the lining out all the way, showing Negan that, other than the small piece of lint that fell out of one, they were both empty. “I told you I didn’t have your keys. When did you have them last?”

 

“Yesterday. I remember dropping the fucking things into my pocket when we came home from the store.” Negan growled in frustration, checking the inside pockets of his jacket for the third time. “Just… go wait in the driveway. I’ll run in and grab the other set of keys, we can take your car.”

 

Instead of waiting around on Negan, Rick got down on his hands and knees in the driveway, looking to see if his keys might have fallen underneath the Escalade unnoticed. Too dark in the shadow to see anything and his hair hanging in his eyes, he hunkered down lower, sticking his head under the vehicle, feeling around blindly with his hand stretched out as far as he could reach.

 

“Good  _ morning _ .”

 

A creeping cold chill ran through Rick’s entire body as he recognized the voice behind him. With his limbs flailing, he scrambled to get out from under the SUV in a hurry, bumping the back of his head hard against the frame in the process. When he turned around, Gareth was standing barefoot on the pavement. Dressed in nothing but a pair of black pajama bottoms and his hair a mess, he twirled a familiar looking set of keys around on his middle finger.

 

“You looking for these, sweetheart?” he smiled broadly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I could have enjoyed the view of watching you look a little while longer. Those jeans are even tighter than the ones you had on last night. Hugging that body good and in  _ all  _ the right places.”

 

Wincing in pain, Rick ignored the roaming eyes on the lower half of his body as he rubbed the tender spot on his head. “How the hell did you get my husband’s keys?” he demanded, reaching out to take possession of them, only to have Gareth jerk his arm away with a teasing, you-want-them-come-get-them grin, keeping them just out of his reach.

 

He took a long step forward, trapping Rick in the tight space between the door and its passenger side mirror. “That sounded like a hell of a hit you just took there, darlin’. Sounded like it hurt, too. Mind if I take a look at it for you? Make sure you’re alright?”

 

_ “No.” _ Rick’s hand out went out automatically, pushing the man back out of his personal space. “I’m fine. It’s-it’s okay. How did you get those keys?”

 

“I found them laying in your driveway last night before the party. I would have given them to you then, but after one look at that pretty little face of yours up close, with those pink pouty lips and those dreamy blue eyes, well shit, I forgot about even having them.” Gareth’s eyes slipped closed as he leaned in against the force of Rick’s hand on his bare chest. “God, you smell good.” 

 

Rick turned his head away, half in disgust—the other half hoping to see Negan walking back in his direction soon. What was taking him so long?

 

“Like strong coffee with vanilla creamer, Irish Spring soap  _ and _ … is that baby powder?” Gareth breathed out with a long exhale against Rick’s ear, breathing in again, taking Rick’s scent deeper inside his lungs. “You just had a shower, didn’t you? Yeah, I can picture you standing there naked, all wet and shiny. Soap suds sliding down that body, getting lost, disappearing inside all of your cracks and crevices. Mmm, baby. You’re making my dick hard as a rock and without doing a damn thi—”

 

Gareth cut himself off, his demeanor, his facial expression and body language all changing suddenly to lighter, more friendly manner as he stepped back away from Rick, holding the keys out, dangling them in front of him.

 

“I can’t find your fucking keys anywhere  _ either _ ,” Negan huffed, coming around the SUV. “I swear on my left nut they were hanging right there on the goddamn—” Negan eyed the keys hanging from Gareth’s finger. “Are those  _ mine _ ? How the fuck did you—”

 

“I found them in your driveway,” Gareth answered, his tone dripping with all the purity and innocence of a Catholic school boy. “Noticed this one out here crawling around looking for something and… well I just assumed he was looking for these. You must be Negan.”

 

“I am.” Negan turned his attention to Rick. All the natural color had drained out of his face, a sickeningly gray shade, like the color of cold ashes taking its place. “Baby, are you okay?”

 

Rick glanced up and met his eyes before looking back to Gareth, the slanted heft of his erection very visible inside his loose-fitting pants. “Y-yeah. I’m alright. I just-I hit the back of my head on your…” he gestured to the vehicle behind him with a thumb over his shoulder, unable to find the word he was looking for. “ ...on your thing.” 

 

“Aww, honey.” Negan turned him around, examining the scalp through his short hair carefully. “I don’t see any blood, just a little blue goose egg. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good. We can go back inside, let you rest for a while if you don’t feel like going out.”

 

_ “No,” _ Rick insisted, turning around with a forced smile, tiny, glittering beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead and upper lip. “No. I’m fine, I promise. It just rang my bell and made me a little dizzy, that’s all.”

 

He couldn’t tell Negan the truth, the things that Gareth had whispered in his ear and how he got off on just the way he smelled. It would ruin everything. Besides, he didn’t put his hands on him, did he? No. He was just being an obvious creep. He’s been waiting on this date for two years. No way in hell would he let this perverted psycho screw him out of it.

 

“Alright. If you’re sure?”

 

Rick nodded, looking up in time to see Gareth’s eyes narrow in hatred as Negan pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around him for a slow and gentle kiss. 

 

***

 

“Those eyes better be closed,” Negan warned with no real threat in his voice as he turned the corner and pulled into a small, crowded parking lot. “If I catch you peeking, we’ll go straight the fuck home, no exceptions.”

 

“I told you they were,” Rick mumbled behind the crush of his sweaty, nervous palms. “I also told you that I hate surprises too, didn’t I?”

 

“Yes you most certainly fucking did,” Negan laughed as he blinked his headlights, signaling the person backing out that he was waiting on their spot. “Several times. But I’ve got a feeling that you and your goddamn sappy heart will like the shit out of this one.”

 

Rick straightened his slouched posture in the passenger seat when he heard the engine shut off. “Are we there? Can I open them now?”

 

“ _ Now _ you can open them.”

 

Rick hesitated for a moment before dropping his hands and letting his eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly to regain his focused vision. He looked around for bit. The scene, at first, was obscure to him, confusing. He didn’t understand. Why was this place such a surprise? It was just an ordinary coffee— 

 

The pieces seemed to fall in place all at once. He turned to Negan, tears filling his eyes, spilling out and dripping down his cheeks with every blink. “Is this… this is it, isn’t it? It  _ is _ . Oh my God, Negan. It’s the coffee shop from your story. From  _ our  _ story—of how we first met.”

 

“You’re not disappointed? It’s not too cheesy?”

 

“It’s perfect.” Rick put his hands up, swatting away the tears on his face. “I-I don’t… I don’t know what to say. This is the most thoughtful first date I could ever imagine.”

 

With a strange pride swelling up, taking over his chest, Negan smiled. “I'm glad you like it.”

 

Rick watched him as he reached down to the ignition switch. His hands were shaking, trembling as he fumbled to get the keys out. He was nervous, too. 

 

“I want you to go inside and order one jelly donut, Rick. Just one.”

 

Rick’s shoulders dropped, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “You mean… you’re not coming in with me? I thought we were… I thought this was… ”

 

“Go on,” Negan urged, his slow-to-die, I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile still lingering on his lips. “Go tell that cute little blonde behind the counter there that you want _ one jelly donut for here.  _ Alright? Make sure you say it’s for  _ here _ .” 

 

Rick was disappointed—clearly disappointed—but he opened the door anyway and slid out of the vehicle. Before going inside the shop, he glanced back over his shoulder one last time, hoping that Negan was joking, that he would be standing right there behind him with that smooth smile on his face. He wasn’t.  

 

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he stared up at the menu and waited his turn. 

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Rick looked at the young man behind the counter, he couldn’t have been but about four or five years younger than he was. “Uh yeah, can I get one jelly donut, please?”

 

“Sure thing. That’ll be $2.19. Is that gonna be for here or to go?”

 

Rick handed him a five dollar bill. “It’s for here,” he told him as he stuffed the change he was given down into the tip jar before reaching for the lone pastry resting in the center of a waxed paper sheet. “Thank you.” 

 

“Thank  _ you _ .”

 

He turned around, eyes on the lookout for an empty table and—“Oof!”—thick and sticky raspberry jelly covered the front of his shirt.

 

“Shit! I’m sorry!”

 

Rick lifted his gaze from the mess on his chest and found himself staring into the same smiling hazel eyes he had just left behind in the parking lot.

 

“Go and find us a table. I’ll be right there.”

 

Rick paid no attention to the dozens of eyes glued to him as he sat down and reached for a handful of napkins from the dispenser. He smiled anyway, swiping and wiping at the red gummy goo on his shirt. 

 

“I got a clean shirt for you in the glove compartment,” Negan mumbled around the paper-covered straws he was holding between his lips, setting two croissant breakfast sandwiches down on the table with a couple of caramel iced coffees. 

“Thank you,” Rick smiled. “For all of this.”

 

“What?” Negan laughed, scooting himself and his chair closer to the table. “Even the jelly bomb?”

 

“Yes, all of it, especially that. You must have gone through a lot of trouble planning this.” He could feel the heat crawling across his face, settling into the apples of his cheeks. “You recreated something that never happened. You  _ made _ it happen. That-that’s sweet.”

 

“Well,” Negan said, nodding his head as he pulled the slices of avocado off of his sandwich, putting them on the corner of his wrapper and wiping his fingers free of the creamy green residue. “I’m a sweet guy when I wanna be.” 

 

His ever-present cocky smile grew faint as his eyes jumped to Rick’s, guilt dancing briefly on his face while their eyes remained connected. “I… I wanted to be that sweet guy before, you know, that morning. You with the donuts. I wanted to sit down and have breakfast with you, and get to know you better.”

 

A smile spread across Rick’s face, dimpling his cheeks and lighting his blue eyes up with pure happiness. 

 

“Actually.” Negan snorted a small laugh, picking nervously at the flaky top layer of his croissant. “I’ve wanted that since the very first minute I laid eyes on you.”

 

“Really?” Rick’s breath stuck in his throat. “When was that?”

 

“It was my first morning at the precinct. Hershel was showing me around, explaining the routine and how everything operated... then you walked in. You had your hands full of files and paperwork, your cell phone tucked between your ear and shoulder, not paying a goddamn bit of attention where you were going. You didn’t see Eugene stretch his legs out beside his desk and you tripped over his foot.”

 

Rick his his face behind both hands. “You saw that?”

 

“Every damn glorious second of it,” Negan laughed, spreading his legs under the table and stretching both arms above his head. “You were all sprawled out in the fucking floor like a science class frog waiting for dissection.” He laughed again. “I never wanted to kiss a stranger so much in my whole goddamn life.”

 

Rick felt his embarrassment start to ebb away, slowly but surely being replaced with a comfortable, easy feeling. He knew why Negan couldn’t allow himself to go there  _ then _ , he did, he understood. But somehow, just knowing that he wanted the same things, that they shared the same feelings for each other from the beginning, it made everything else, everything that had happened before now seem so insignificant. 

 

As if he knew what Rick was thinking, Negan picked up his straw and stared across the table at him. Tearing the end of the wrapper off, he put the uncovered plastic up to his lips and blew a perfect straw paper rocket at his face, hitting him right between the eyes. “But I’m still a little shit.”

 

“Yes,” Rick laughed, wadding up the paper and throwing it back across the table. “Yes, you are.”

 

“Dig in,” Negan said, taking a big bite of his sandwich before pulling a handful of folded papers out of his pocket. “We’re gonna play a little game while we eat, try and get to know each other a little better.”

 

Rick inhaled sharp, nearly choking on a mouthful of egg, bacon and avocado. “The last time I played a game like this with you, I ended up completely naked and humiliated.”

 

An older woman with short red hair joined Negan in an outburst of laughter. “This game is a little different. You just pick a question and read it, the other person has to answer honestly, simple as that. I’ll go first so you can see how it’s done.” Negan shuffled his fingers around in the papers and picked one up. “Okay.” He rolled his shoulders and shifted in his seat. “ _ Rick _ . What would you do if you knew you were going to die in one hour?”

 

“Hmm. One hour.” Rick scrunched up one side of his face in overly dramatic wink while he thought about the question. “Wow. I think what I would do  _ is _ … yeah. I’d just go home and eat the entire pan of Tiramisu that’s in the fridge.”

 

Negan wrinkled his nose guiltily and looked out the window, scratching at his temple with one finger. “You might eat  _ two thirds  _ of it. I had some before you got up this morning.”

 

“You assho—”

 

“Your turn!”

 

Shaking his head, Rick laughed and picked up a question for Negan. “Oh, this is a good one. Name something about your body that you’re self-conscious about?” Rick put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, anxiously waiting on _Mr._ _Confidence_ to answer. 

 

“Damn. I was hoping you would be the one answering this question.” Negan frowned, taking a long, stalling sip of his iced coffee. “Um… I guess I would have to say... my ass—there I said it.”

 

“What’s wrong with your ass?”

 

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it, per fucking se, Rick. I just wish it was more…  _ more _ .” he laughed. “Wish it was a little bigger is all. Now  _ you _ , you got an ass.”

 

“Shut. Up.” Rick blushed seeing the older lady turning around in her seat to check him out. “Just hurry up and ask me the next question.”

 

“Fine.” Negan’s tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he rooted around in the pile of questions. “Alright, here we go. What are you afraid people see when they look at you?”

 

Rick took the remainder of sandwich that he had pressed against his lips and put it back down on the paper wrapper. He turned and looked toward the window, studying his own reflection in the glass. “I’m afraid they see what  _ I  _ see.”

 

“What do you see, Rick?”

 

Feeling Negan’s eyes on him, he looked back, offering him a flimsy smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Every flaw and every weakness. Every fault, every failure.” He pushed another smile to his lips, hot tears scalding his eyes. “You, you’re so confident, so secure with who you are. I don’t-I’m not what you need. It won’t work. It never works. Not for me. But… just hearing you say that you wanted me, too—I’ll take that. It’s enough.”

 

Negan grabbed his phone and moved over to the other side of the table. Pulling his camera up, he flipped it to front-facing mode. “Look at us.”

 

“I don’t want to,” he said staring at the table and shaking his head.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because then I’ll know for sure that we’re not right for each other. That I’m not good enough.”

 

Negan took his chin in his hand, tracing the stubbly path of his jaw with his thumb. “Look up here. Let me show you just how wrong you are.”

 

Rick glanced up just as Negan smashed both of their faces together on the screen. 

 

“I don’t know about you, Rick, but I think we look  _ damn  _ good together. Don’t get me wrong, you’re fucking perfect on your own. I don’t see a single flaw or fault. You are whole right now and you don’t need anything or anyone to complete you. There’s not a damn thing wrong with you just as you are. But look at us  _ together _ .”

 

Rick smiled, the light coming back in his eyes.

 

“Every time I look at you, the only thing I can think about is how good it’s going to feel when we  _ really  _ make love. I’m not talking about my dick either—hell I already know that’s gonna blow my goddamn mind. But no, I’m talking about here.” He touched the center of Rick’s chest. “And here,” he said, laying a finger against his temple. “I wanna connect with you on  _ that  _ level. I’ve already had a small taste of it.”

 

Rick looked into his eyes on the phone screen. “When?”

 

“Our first morning in the house, when I woke up with you in my arms. Your head was on my chest, you were smiling in your sleep. Damn. And the way you fit my body just right. It was like you were molded, created just for me. I knew it then—maybe not as much as I do now—but I could still feel it. We  _ are  _ right for each other. And I can’t wait to have  _ all  _ of you.”

 

Rick reached out and snapped a picture of the two of them together. He didn’t care that his hair was rumpled and messy against Negan’s head. He didn’t care that he had flaky bits of croissant stuck to the short beard growing on his face or that there was a little bit of mashed avocado on the corner of his mouth. He didn’t even mind that his eyes were red and puffy. 

 

He liked what he saw. For the first time in a long time, he liked and accepted himself for who he was.

 

“You ready to get out of here?” Negan asked, setting the picture Rick had taken as his new wallpaper. “I feel like taking a stroll with my boy.”

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

Negan sighed contentedly. “I swear, Rick, if I had the opportunity, I would kiss the son of a bitch who invented the porta potty,  _ right  _ on the fucking mouth.” The blue plastic door clapped shut behind him, echoing in the near empty parking lot as he double checked the zipper situation on his jeans. “I thought I was gonna have to resort to playing a goddamn game of  _ water the tree _ ,” he laughed, glancing back to the area where Rick was standing less than two minutes ago. “Rick?” He wasn’t there.

 

“All that iced coffee finally caught up to you too, huh?” he whispered, opening the doors one by one, peeping inside the other three stalls that were lined up next to the one he had just utilized. “Rick?” They were all empty.  _ Where the hell did you go? _

 

He looked around, eyes scouring over the immediate vicinity of the park. Other than a single jogger and a young couple walking their three feisty cocker spaniels, the area was calm, quiet. 

 

It was as if Rick had been swallowed alive or vanished into thin air. It didn’t make sense. They were having the best time, holding hands as they strolled through the city, enjoying each other’s company and swapping embarrassing childhood stories. Hell, Rick had just willingly shared with him the now-hilarious tale of the time his jackhole of an ex-boyfriend tweeted several censor-worthy pictures of his very naked ass out of spite. That showed trust. He would have never given the old Negan that kind leverage.

 

He wouldn’t just leave. Not unless— 

 

Gareth.  _ That son of a bitch.  _ He was out this morning when they were leaving for their date. Fear, stronger than anything Negan had known in a long time, brought a knot to his throat and tears to his eyes. He was suffocating. He clutched and clawed at his closing airway. What if he had followed them? What if he had been watching them all this time, waiting for the right moment to pounce on one of them.

 

_ No. _ No fucking way was he going to lie down and let this happen. He didn’t know where he was going exactly, but he picked a direction and started running. They couldn’t have just disappeared in the amount of time it took for him to take a piss. And the park wasn’t that big, there weren’t that many hiding places. He would find him.

 

He checked behind the bushes and gazebos, behind the water fountains. He looked behind every tree, every trash can. Nothing. His heart hammered against his ribs, like it was trying to beat itself out of his chest. His brain was on overload, spinning in circles while he tried to figure out his next move. In a gesture of frustration, he let out a ragged growl and raked his hands through his long hair before taking off in the direction of the playground.

 

He found nothing in or behind any of the tube and tunnel crawlers. No trace of him inside the treehouse or playhouse. And there was no one hiding behind the climbing walls and plastic mole hills. A feeling of absolute, utter helplessness washed over him as he stood, both feet rooted in the mulch and his hands on his face. 

 

_ Goddammit, Rick. Where the fuck—  _

 

He jerked his head around toward the sound of a sneeze.  _ Rick?  _ He felt the last remaining puff of air left in his lungs blow past his lips when he spotted him, perched high atop the twenty foot slide ladder with his head down, his cell phone in his hands. He was okay. He was safe. Negan gasped for air, trying to replace every single breath he had been denied before.

 

“Rick!” he shouted, repeating his name with every ladder rung he climbed. “Rick!”

 

Startled by the crazy man scrambling his way up the slide, Rick quickly switched his phone screen off, shoving it inside his pocket just as Negan made it to the top, grabbing him by the face. “What the hell are you—”

 

The rest of his question was lost, drowned out by needy, urgent kisses and incoherent sentences. “Shit— I was so— I fucking thought he— I didn’t know what to—”

 

“I can’t understand anything you’re saying. Slow down and look at me. What the hell is going on? You scared the shit out of me barreling up here like that.”

 

Negan took a deep breath, concentrating to clear the emotion from his heart, his mind, not to mention the feelings he was certain he wore on his face. “I came out and... you were just fucking gone. I thought Gareth showed up and…” He could feel his face growing hot, everything he wanted to say caught in his throat, choking him. He looked away, realizing how foolish he must have looked charging up the old-school, metal slide like a rabid elementary school kid on a mission. “Maybe I might have overreacted a little. It’s just… I don’t trust him, Rick. I mean, it’s not like I ever did but—but after what you told me last night, after the party, I  _ really  _ don’t trust him.”

 

“You thought  _ he…? _ ” Rick lifted his eyebrows, a bashful grin creasing his cheeks. “You were worried about me?”

 

Negan’s face scrunched up as he let go of an embarrassed, faint-hearted laugh. “Kind of,” he answered, rubbing his thumb over the bumpy surface of Rick’s knuckles. “What are you doing up here, anyway,  _ besides  _ giving me a goddamn coronary?”

 

“Oh. I uh... ” Rick looked away from Negan, focusing instead on the way the gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the trees, his hands fidgeting with the leg seam of his jeans. “I  _ was… _ I was trying to get a better signal.”

 

“Who were you talking to?”

 

“No one,” Rick insisted, adding a smile as he ignored the vibrations of his silenced phone against his hip. “I was just checking to see if I had any messages.”

 

“Oh.” Negan nodded, throwing a glance over his shoulder to the ground. “You ready to head back to the car? We walked by a shop on the way here that I really wanna check out. Might be a few props in there that could help us out.”

 

***

 

Rick was quiet on the walk back. He hated that he had lied to Negan back at the park. His purpose for climbing that ladder wasn’t for a better signal, he did it for privacy. He needed to talk to Hershel, so he shot him a text.

 

**Rick: The 24 hr surveillance still going on across the street?**

**Hershel: yes and no**

**Rick: What does that mean?**

**Hershel: we pulled it back to 2 officers.**

**Hershel: i trust abe and sasha**

**Hershel: needed the others back on regular duty**

**Hershel: everything ok**

**Rick: Yeah but...**

 

Rick had decided it was best if Hershel knew what Gareth had been up to. The things he had said to him last night and this morning, showing his interest in him sexually, especially now that they didn’t have the safety net of twenty-four hour surveillance anymore. Sure, Abe and Sasha were good cops and he’d trust them with his life, but they can’t keep their eyes open 24/7. Truth be told, with just the two of them alone together in that house, they were probably spending the majority of their time fucking rather than doing their job anyway. 

 

Another thing weighing heavy on his mind were those damn keys. If Gareth had Negan’s keys while they—and everyone else in the neighborhood—were preoccupied at the party, he had access to their house. He could have had his own key made, allowing him entrance whenever he wanted it. Not only that, but he could have been in their house last night while they were sleeping. The thought made Rick want to puke.

 

But, while he was typing out his reply to Hershel, Negan decided to run up the slide screaming his name. That’s when he put his phone back in his pocket and ignored the persistent buzzing in his jeans. Now, those unread messages were burning a hole in his pocket. He was dying to know what they said.

 

“Here we are,” Negan said, both arms stretched out wide in front of the shop’s tinted storefront windows. “I got a feeling they got exactly what we need in here.”

 

Rick’s jaw went slack with shock as he took in the store’s name written above the door.  _ Moregasms.  _ “Negan, are you serious? This is a… ” 

 

“This is  _ not  _ one of those sleazy porn shops,” Negan insisted. “It’s an adult novelty boutique… says so right on the damn door. And it just so happens, we’ve been glossing over a particular bedroom task that Gareth is bound to notice sooner or fucking later, if he hasn’t already.”

 

Rick’s tongue darted out while he thought about it for a minute, sweeping back and forth along the edge of his bottom lip as his gaze wandered south, eyes going wide once he'd figured it out. “Are you talking about… ?”

 

“Yes, Rick. I’m talking about giving little Negan and the twins a fucking tongue bath. Blow jobs. But Gareth, well he’s already seen both of us naked.  _ So... _ we have to go in there and find the closest match possible. Size, color… the whole nine yards. And I  _ do  _ mean yards,” he joked, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

 

Without reacting whatsoever to Negan’s dick size witticism, Rick looked down as his phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him, once again, of the unread texts.

 

“You okay with this?” Negan asked, taking his interest in his phone as uneasiness about the shop. “God, I’m such a dick. I didn’t even think to ask what you thought.”

 

“No, no,” Rick argued. “It’s a  _ good  _ idea. I’m definitely on board—I just—why don’t you go on in and have a look around. I’ll be in a couple of minutes.”

 

Negan leaned down, brushing his lips against his ear lobe. “So fucking shy,” he whispered, his warm breath and wet lips causing goosebumps to pimple his flesh. “I swear it makes you ten times sexier.” With a feral growl, he nibbled and tasted his way down from his neck to his shoulder, leaving him a whimpering mess before disappearing inside the shop.

 

Rick would definitely need a couple minutes now. No way was he going into a store full of sex toys with a half-mast bulge knocking against the teeth of his zipper. Taking a seat on the sidewalk, he fished his phone out of his front pocket, shielding the screen from the sun with his hand. Ten texts from Hershel.  _ Holy shit. _

  
  


**Hershel: but negan is being a pain in your ass i know**

**Hershel: well i’ve got some good news for you**

**Hershel: he’ll soon be over 2,600 miles away from here**

**Hershel: he applied to work for the seattle pd a few months ago**

**Hershel: heard from them this morning**

**Hershel: he’s been accepted**

**Hershel: as soon as this case is over, you won’t have to deal with him anymore**

**Hershel: but don’t say anything to him about it**

**Hershel: i want to surprise him when you guys finally nab gareth**

**Hershel: promise me**

 

_ Seattle?  _ Rick’s head was pounding all of a sudden, a churning feeling welled up in his stomach, roiling with nausea.  _ No _ , he thought,  _ that can’t be right. _ Convinced he had read the words wrong, he read over them again, slower, more carefully this time. His world was starting to spin as his eyes swept back and forth over his phone. 

 

_ 2,600 miles away from here. _

_ As soon as this case is over, you won’t have to deal with him ever again.   _

_ As soon as this case is over…  _

_ As soon as this case is over…  _

_ As soon as this case is over... _

 

The words were whirling around inside his head faster and faster, making him dizzy. Making him— 

 

Rick’s stomach emptied itself on the pavement between his feet. His stomach clenched and contracted in pain as the sweat beaded on his face, dripping off the end of his nose. 

 

Telling Hershel about Gareth _now,_ well that was completely out of the question. He was too afraid to even bring up the incident with the keys. He knew, as protective as Hershel was of everyone on the force, he would call them off of the case for their own safety, putting Negan on the next plane out to Seattle. And what _about_ Negan? He damn sure wasn’t about to tell him. The minute he finds out about the things Gareth said to him, he knew it would end ugly, still resulting in a 2,600 mile-separation. 

 

He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.

 

**Rick: I promise.**

 

***

 

“I’m sorry I got sick.” Rick was stretched out on the couch, the aftertaste of the ginger ale Negan insisted on him drinking during the ride home still lingering on his tongue. 

 

“Why are you sorry, babe?” Negan plopped down next to him, squeezing his foot through his shoe. “It’s not like you could control that tummy of yours.”

 

Rick sat up and curled his legs underneath him, resting his head on Negan’s shoulder. His complexion was still a ghastly chalk white color, the threat of losing him to Seattle still fresh on his mind. “I don’t know. I feel like I kinda ruined the date.” 

 

“What the hell are you talking about? It was the perfect date. Well… except for the part where I thought you’d been abducted by a homicidal perv and ran around the goddamn park like a raving lunatic.” He paused for a moment, resting his chin on the top of Rick’s head.  _ “Aaaand…  _ that whole thing with the hot guy puking in the sex shop parking lot, that was kinda weird. Other than that it was all good times, Rick,  _ good times _ . _ ” _

 

“Fuck you,” Rick quipped, smothering his laughter against Negan’s arm. “Come on. Show me what you bought.”

 

“Oh!” Negan thundered, holding his white plastic bag up above his head like a trophy. “You wouldn’t  _ believe  _ the shit they got in that place. It was like a kid in a goddamn candy shop, only with a grown man in a room full of dicks, pussies and all the good shit in between. They had cocks lined up in there like they were in a fucking dick parade, Rick. Long ones, short ones, fat ones, curved ones. Some with veins, some with foreskin. They even have one called The Wet Dreamer. It’s rigged with a tube and pump, so it can bust a nut whenever you want it to. Even comes with its own bottle of jizz.”

 

Rick stared at Negan with the faintest hint of concern playing on his features. He had never seen anyone so excited about anything in his entire life. “So… what did you buy?” He was almost afraid of the answer.

 

Negan opened the bag and pulled out two items. 

 

“That’s it?” Rick blinked, holding the empty bag upside down and shaking it, expecting an avalanche of sex paraphernalia to come spilling out. “This is all you bought?”

 

“Yeah,” Negan laughed, working to get the harness out of its packaging. “I was fucking tempted though, don’t think I wasn’t.”

 

“Is this me or you?” Rick asked, opening up the other box. “Oh.” Pulling it out, he held the realistic silicone object in his hand. “This is definitely you.”  _ Wow,  _ he mouthed, marvelling over every fine anatomical detail. “It even feels real. Moves like real skin.”

 

“I didn’t have time to find one that resembled… well  _ yours _ . After you got sick, I just wanted to get you home.” Negan’s eyes shifted to his left, watching the provocative way Rick’s hands slid up and down the toy. The way his thumb swept back and forth over its simulated slit. He could feel his own, very real cock coming to life in his jeans. He leaned in closer to him, inhaling his scent. “God, you smell good. Is that baby powder?”

 

Dropping the toy in Negan’s lap, Rick moved over, putting distance between them on the couch. 

 

“Rick?” Negan was confused. “What’s the matter with you?” He reached out, laying a gentle hand on Rick’s knee. When he flinched away, he knew something was definitely wrong. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but all goddamn day, I’ve had the feeling that there’s something you don’t want me to know. You wanna tell me what it is?”

 

Rick blew out a long breath and shook his head.

 

“Darlin’.”

 

“Don’t call me that!”

 

“ _ Rick. _ What the hell is going on with you? If this has something to do with that motherfucker next door, I swear to fuck I’ll—”

 

“No, no, no,” Rick pled. “I mean, it does have something to do with him, but I’m probably just blowing it all out of proportion. I don’t want you to do anything, okay?”

 

There was a dangerous light in Negan’s eyes. “Did he put his hands on you?” His muscles flexed furiously, the veins in his forehead and neck were bulging.

 

“Promise me you won’t do anything.”

 

“Did he—put—his fucking hands on you?”  

 

“Promise me!”

 

“I promise.”

 

Focusing his attentions on the arm of the couch, nervously picking at a loose thread, Rick shook his head. “He didn’t touch me, I swear. But, he was right on top of me. He pinned me against your door and—Negan!”

 

He was already on his feet, tearing off his jacket and throwing it to the floor. “I’ll kill that sick son of a bitch!” 

 

“Damn it, Negan! You promised me!”

 

“I lied!” He paced the living room floor like a caged animal, back and forth, back and forth, Rick matching him step-for-step, blocking him from charging out the front door. 

 

“This is why I didn’t tell you.”

 

“So  _ what  _ then, Rick?” Negan huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re just gonna let this fucking psycho treat you like shit and not do a goddamn thing to stop—” His voice slid back down his throat as Rick speared him with a narrow look, a glare icy enough to stop his heart. He swallowed hard, convincing himself that the lump he’d forced down was his pride. “Look, I  _ know  _ I treated you like shit, but this is different. This is dangerous, baby. He’s a killer.”   
  


“You wanna know what I think?” Rick walked up to him, sliding his arms around his waist and resting his head against his puffed out chest, forcing him to soften under his touch. “I think he’s just testing me. Maybe he senses something about us. Hell, maybe he thinks that we  _ are  _ here undercover, I don’t know. Maybe he’s just trying to see how much I’ll take before I crack and ruin every fucking thing myself. We can’t let that happen, Negan. We have to do our job. Show him that we’re just a normal married couple.”

 

Negan wrapped his arms around him, pulling him even tighter against his body. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. It took me so long to let go of the fucking past and allow myself to get this close to you. I’m just scared, Rick. Scared of losing you, too.”

 

Rick rested his hands against Negan’s face, kissing him airily on the lips. “He didn’t touch me, just called me darlin’ and sweetheart. He got closer, pretending to give a shit that I hit my head. Said he could smell my soap and baby powder, just like you did. Said he could picture me wet and soapy in the shower, and that… that it was making his dick hard. That’s when you walked out and he transformed into the sweet and innocent, I’m-just-here-to-return-your-keys holy saint of a neighbor”

 

Negan sighed long and hard, finally calm enough to think rationally. “Will you just… will you tell me if he does something like that again? Can you do that? Can you  _ not  _ keep shit like this from me?”

 

“Okay.” 

 

_ “Okay,” _ Negan echoed, kissing him on the tip of his nose. “I’m gonna go out back and burn these packages in the fire pit, just in case that meddling motherfucker decides to look through our trash, too.”

 

“And while you’re doing that, I think I’ll go change and head out for a jog.”

 

“Rick, I don’t think—”

 

“I’ll be fine. Besides, my stomach’s feeling a lot better now. I just—I need some time to myself. Try and clear my head for a bit.” As Rick turned to go change his clothes, he noticed his car keys. They were hanging exactly where they were supposed to be, the same spot that Negan swore he had checked this morning. He shrugged.  _ Maybe he overlooked them,  _ he thought as he made the climb up the stairs.

 

***

 

The steady slapping sound of Rick’s sneaker-clad feet hitting the wooden planks of the running trail cut through the sticky afternoon air. Live oaks lined either side of the trail, the spanish moss that covered the limbs hung low, creating a gray, feathery-like canopy overhead. The area was peaceful, serene. He had only passed by one other person and that was at least a half a mile back.

 

The front and back of his tank top was already soaked with sweat as he paused for a moment to catch his breath. Pulling one of the bottles of water out of the pouch of his running belt, he tipped his head back to the sun, greedily guzzling half of it all at once to quench his thirst. As he was screwing the cap back on, he heard a quick snapping sound off to his right, like a dry twig being stepped on. He froze. 

 

“Negan?” He peered through the tree trunks, waiting, watching for something, for someone to move. “Negan? Is that you? Don’t tell me you followed me all the way—Fuck!” Rick’s heart skipped a beat,  maybe two or three, when a young male deer, his budding antlers indicating his age and sex, jumped out in front of him, loping across to the other side of the trail. 

 

“Goddammit Bambi,” he laughed under his breath, his voice a low whisper. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were—”

 

“Who you talking to, darlin’?”

 

The all-too-familiar voice behind him curdled the blood in his veins. Instinctively, he reached for his cell phone, but the sweatpants he had on offered no pockets. He thought about taking off on foot, see how far he could get, but he figured Gareth knew the area better than he did. He would find a way to stop him. Turning around, seeing that awful, smug smile of his, he wanted to vomit again.

 

“Look at  _ you _ .” Gareth stood, scrutinizing Rick for a full minute, before walking a slow circle around him, inspecting every sweat-drenched inch of him in fine detail. “Mmm mmm  _ mmm! _ You know, I don’t know what it is, but I  _ never  _ get tired of seeing a man in a pair of gray sweats. Damn. And what kind of tank is this?” Gareth asked, running his fingers along the hem of the waist-low armhole, skimming over each and every exposed, flesh and muscle covered-rib as he went.

 

“I gotta get back home,” Rick stated, stepping around him. “My husband… he’s expecting me home for lunch. He’ll come looking for me if I’m not back on time.” 

 

“Cool,” Gareth said, lifting his eyebrows. “I’ll walk with you.”

 

“I’d rather you didn’t.” The rigid line of Rick’s jaw was a warning, that the current control on his temper was weak and flimsy. 

 

With his hands clasped behind his back, Gareth took up the space beside him on the path anyway, keeping up with his vigorous pace toward home. “Do you not like me, Rick? Most people seem to think I’m a fun guy. Some have even gone so far to say that I’m an okay  _ looking  _ guy. What do you think?”

 

“I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you.”

 

“You could get to know me.” Gareth spun around, managing to maintain the same speed while walking backwards. “We could get to know  _ each other _ .” He smiled at Rick, hoping to coax a smile in return, but his lips remained as tight as his jaw. “Ask me anything you want to know.”

 

“Fine.” Rick stopped walking and waited for Gareth to do the same, looking him dead in the eye when he turned around. “Why do you say the shit that you say to me? When you know that I’m a married—happily married man.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gareth insisted, his obvious smirk outshining the serious mask he was trying to hide behind. _ “What?” _ he laughed, giving up the poker face charade. “Is it so wrong that I enjoy looking at an attractive man?”  

 

“There is a  _ big  _ difference between looking and the shit you’re doing.”

 

“Well it wouldn’t have to be like that, sugar, if you’d just throw me a bone once in a while. Flash me a damn smile or something. Besides… ” he slipped his hands inside the open-side of Rick’s tank top, rubbing them up and down the sweat-slickened skin of Rick’s back and belly. “When you put  _ all of this _ on display, how am I supposed to react?”

 

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Rick snapped, shoving him off of his feet, watching him scramble backwards like a crab over the wooden path.

 

_ “Ooh,” _ he crooned, his mouth falling open in feigned flattery _.  _ “He’s got balls  _ and  _ claws.” Dusting himself off, Gareth rose to his feet stiffly, facing Rick once again. “I’m not sure I like that.” He was still smiling, but it was the sadistic smile of a psychopath now, not the friendly smile that was trying to put him at ease a few minutes ago. 

 

“Just let me go home,” Rick urged, both hands up, ready to fight if he had to. “That’s all I’m trying to do.” He watched Gareth’s right hand disappear into one of the big pockets of his cargo pants. “ _ Please,”  _ he sobbed. “Just let me go.”

 

“Turn around and start walking,” Gareth ordered, his hand coming out of his pocket, the small grin still present on his tight lips. 

 

_ He’s going to shoot me in the fucking back,  _ Rick thought, turning around slowly.  _ Let it be quick. Please. Just let it be quick.  _ He felt a rush of panic surge through his body, his heart racing as he fought to breathe.  _ It’ll all be over in a few seconds, _ he told himself. The further they walked, the closer Gareth’s footsteps sounded. He was right on top of him.  _ Here it comes. Here it comes.  _ He gasped, feeling something solid press against his back. 

 

“Turn here,” Gareth demanded. “To your left.”

 

The second Rick stepped between the trees— _ Zap! _ Fifty-five thousand volts of electricity shot through him. His screams rang through the air as his body stiffened like a board, no control whatsoever of his motor skills. As soon as the zapping stopped, he hit the ground, and he hit it hard. 

 

“Roll your ass over or you’re getting it again,” Gareth promised, pressing the stun gun between Rick’s shoulder blades. 

 

He could feel the wetness of blood seeping through the shredded fabric of his sweats as he struggled to get on his back. Every rock and gravel he hit when he fell, felt like it embedded itself into his kneecaps and right shoulder. 

 

“God,” Gareth whispered, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. “You’re even prettier when you cry.”

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Gareth pressed the taser against Rick’s neck, holding it there as he settled the length of his body between his legs. “I don’t wanna hurt you anymore than I already have. Damn near killed me to have to do that. But I underestimated you, didn’t I? Yeah, I did. Thought you’d be an easy catch.”

 

“Please,” Rick begged, willingly risking a merciless jolt to his neck. “Please don’t kill me.” He recoiled against the dirt and gravel beneath him out of fear as Gareth’s other hand came up to his face.

 

“Kill you?” Gareth blinked down at him, his expression softening into concern and confusion as he gently wiped the grass and dirt away from his face. “Is that what you think? I don’t want to hurt a single hair on your pretty little head.”

 

Rick’s features grew muddled. “But you’re hurting me _now_. You shocked me. I’m bleeding.”

 

“That was all your doing, baby.” He reached up, pulling a dead leaf out of Rick’s hair, carefully brushing the longer strands back into place, smoothing it, pulling it down with his fingers until every strand laid just right. “You shouldn’t have tried to fight me. The only thing I want to do is take care of you.”

 

“My _husband_ takes care of me,” Rick hissed. “And when he finds out what you’ve done here, when he’s sees whatever it is you’ve got planned to do to me, he’s going to fucking kill—”

 

 _“Careful,”_ Gareth said, his voice thick with warning, dripping with the promise of more pain as he pressed the stun gun deeper into the flesh of his neck. “Don’t threaten me. You never know when that precious husband of yours might find _himself_ tangled up in the middle of some unfortunate accident.”

 

“No,” Rick begged. “Don’t hurt him.”

 

“There, there,” he cooed, shushing him, trying to comfort him by stroking his face. “Don’t you worry. Nobody else has to get hurt. Not as long as you play by the rules.”

 

Every time Gareth opened his mouth, every time he spoke, Rick grew more and more anxious, more uncertain about his fate. Clearly, the man holding him down was mentally unwell. One minute, his voice was callous and rough, his words cruel and vicious. The next, he was so calm, acting as if he truly cared about him. His voice was almost sweet, teetering on the edge of trustworthy. It was as if he were talking to two different people.

 

“I don’t understand,” Rick cried, his salty tears stinging the the raw flesh of the bloody scrape near his temple. “What do you want from me?”

 

Gareth sighed, releasing some of the pressure he held against Rick’s neck. “Let me see if I can explain it to you better. Have you ever wanted something that you knew you just couldn’t have? Something that someone else already owned and… no matter what you did, you knew it could never be yours?”

 

Rick knew the question was most likely a rhetorical one, but, given his current situation, he was afraid not to answer. “Yes,” he choked out, nodding his head carefully.

 

“Well,” Gareth smiled, a glint of madness twinkling his eyes. “You belong to someone, and I want you to be with me. But… ” Gareth ran his fingers over Rick’s trembling lips, the long skinny digits smelled like old motor oil and gasoline from tinkering under the hood of the truck in his driveway. “I want you to _want_ to be with me.”

 

If not for the fifty-five thousand volts of electricity currently promising to nuke his jugular, Rick might have actually laughed out loud at his outlandish desire. “That’ll _never_ happen you psychotic prick.”

 

“Ah, but there’s where you’re wrong, sugar. You might not think so right now, but sooner or later, you _will_ want me, I promise you that. You’ll see things my way. You’ll willingly do whatever it is I ask you to do, and you’ll do it with a smile on your face.” He leaned closer. “And I can’t wait,” he whispered, his hot breath blowing over Rick’s cheeks and eyelids. “Every taste and smell your body has to offer, every sweet sound the pleasures draw out of you. Every last inch of you, laid out for me and only me.”

 

Rick swallowed, then swallowed again, trying to hold back the vomit that was threatening to crawl up his throat. “I won’t,” he stated point-blank, looking his attacker in the eye. “I. Will never. Want you.”

 

 _“Yes,”_ Gareth assured him with all the confidence in the world, running his forefinger down the length of Rick’s nose, giving the tip of it a playful pat. “You will. When the time is right, you’ll see. You’ll come to me. You’ll voluntarily give yourself to me.” Putting all of his weight on his free hand, Gareth rose and sat on top of Rick, pinning his hands down under his knees, the disgusting evidence of his arousal pressing against his lower abdomen. “Are you still afraid of me? Afraid that I’ll hurt you?”

 

Rick didn’t answer, his attention was drawn to the large sheath on Gareth’s belt.

 

“You checking out my knife?” He asked, following Rick’s inquisitive gaze. Pulling the dagger out by its burnished mahogany handle, he held the double-edged weapon close enough for Rick to get a good look at its razor-like sharpness, the bright afternoon sun reflecting off of the polished steel, illuminating Rick’s face with fragments of light as he rotated it. “My mother, she gave this to me after my brother died. Alex, that was his name, we did everything together. He was my best friend—my only _true_ friend really.” His eyes began to water, bringing him back to the reality of the moment. “This knife, it’s the only physical thing I have left to remember him.”

 

Rick stared up at him, his eyes dull and glazed, his face brittle with bewilderment. Was this man really trying to solicit sympathy from him? After everything he’s said to him—after everything he’s done to him today? He looked at the lengthy weapon in his hand. He thought about just how _easy_ it would be to overpower this lunatic and plunge his dead brother’s dagger straight through his heartless chest. But, if he was guilty, Hershel wanted him brought in alive to stand trial, and they still needed something tying him to the six senseless homicides.

 

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked again, with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin plastered on his face as he held the sharp blade dangerously close to one of his eyes.

 

“Yes,” Rick whispered shakily, pulling away from the point of the dagger. “I’m afraid of you… but not of what you’ll do to me.”

 

His satisfied smile melted away with a long, sorrowful sigh as he housed the dagger back in its case, sliding it around to the back of his belt out of Rick’s reach. “You’d do anything to keep _him_ safe,” he noted, jealousy and anger clipping his tone. “You’d do anything in the world for him, wouldn’t you?” He already knew the answer, so he didn’t bother waiting for one. “I want everything he has. I want everything he gets from you. The way you light up when look at him. The way you curl your fingers in his hair when you kiss him. Those sweet sounds you make when he fucks you in the early morning or late at night. The way you cling to him, wrap your bare body around him like a second skin when you’re sleeping.”

 

Rick knew _how_ he knew those specific details, of course he did, but he couldn’t let him know that. His eyes narrowed with a questioning glare. “How do you know—”

 

“I want you to give those things to me!” Gareth shouted angrily, drawing his fist back to hit him. He stopped, just short of connecting with Rick’s jaw, a wild and crazed look on his face. “Shut up!” he seethed through locked teeth, pounding _himself_ in the side of his head as if to quiet the voices inside. “Shut up… just _shut up_! Why do you always do this to me?”

 

Rick stared up at him mutely, his eyes wide with terror as he watched and listened to him talk to someone he couldn’t see.

 

But, just as quickly as he had lost it, the calm sweet-talking Gareth was back, presenting Rick with another easy-going smile. “Everything’s gonna be fine, soon. We’ll be together—and I’ll _have_ all of those things. And then some.” He leaned forward, placing an unexpected and completely unwelcomed kiss on his lips.

 

Rick wrenched his mouth away, turning his head as far as he could get it, his left cheek flush against the cold dirt under him.

 

Just as Gareth snatched a painful handful of Rick’s face and kissed him again, his cell phone, concealed inside one of his many cargo pockets, started ringing. “What?” he answered brusquely. “I only went for a walk. I’m on my way back right now. I… I know that… I know. Okay. Listen. No, _listen_. I can’t talk to you when you get like this. Just relax. Take a deep breath and calm down, I’ll be right there.” He stuffed his phone back inside his pocket. “I’m afraid I have to cut our date short,” he pouted. “But I’ll see you soon.” He smiled, still holding the stun gun against his neck. “Now remember, our little get together here, it’s a secret. Right? Just between you and me. You want to keep your hubby in one piece, don’t you? That’s right,” he nodded along with Rick. “Our little secret.”

 

***

 

After getting to his feet, Rick stood warily between the trees, listening to Gareth’s Timberland boots as they pounded the wooden boards of the running trail, the sound growing fainter and fainter as he ran hell-for-leather back toward the neighborhood.

 

He looked down at his knees, his sweats were torn, the frayed edges soaked in blood and caked with dirt. He was bleeding from his head. What was he going to tell Negan? What would he _do_? Limping slowly, he made his way through the trees and sat down on the nearest bench.

 

Left alone with a chaotic jumble of emotion churning around in his gut, Rick dropped his face into his open hands. He felt angry and sad. Hopeless and defeated. Frustrated and disgusted with himself. What could he possibly tell Negan that wouldn't result in—

 

Holding his head up, Rick looked toward the sound of someone running his way. He was relieved to see that it was only one of his other neighbors and not Gareth coming back to finish what he started. Shane’s earbuds were connected to the phone strapped to his upper arm. He seemed to be lost in his music. Rick hoped he wouldn't notice him sitting there as he was certain he looked like hell. Maybe he would just throw him a nod or a wave and jog right on by. No such luck.

 

“Rick?” Shane ran off over and knelt in front of him, observing his bloody knees and dirty clothes. “The hell happened to you? You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Rick lied, forcing an embarrassed laugh. “I probably should have listened to Negan when he said jogging with an upset stomach wasn’t such a good idea.” He pulled the strands of hair away that were sticking to the abrasion on his temple. “I think I passed out or something. I was running along, minding my own business, next thing I know I’m waking up to a face full of dirt and gravel.”

 

“Shit, man. Sounds fucking rough.” Shane pulled him up on his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist to give him solidity. “Let me help get you back home. You okay to walk? Nothing feels broken?”

 

“I’m _okay_ ,” Rick insisted, putting an arm around Shane's shoulders. “More embarrassed than anything else. First time I come out here I end up on my ass,” he laughed, the smile on his face turning into an ugly twist of pain as the shredded heavy-knit fabric rubbed against the raw surface of his skinned kneecaps with every step. “I can already hear Negan saying _I told you so.”_

 

“Well I don’t know him that well,” Shane said. “But the way he talked about you at the block party, I highly doubt him being right’ll be his first concern once he sees how banged up you are.”

 

“He was talking about me?”

 

“Oh yeah, man. _Rick_ this, _Rick_ that—all fucking night long. Had Lori giving me shit, keeping me awake until two o’clock in the damn morning. _You never say sweet things like that about me,”_ he said, mimicking the higher pitch of his wife’s voice. “Well, maybe if she’d stopped leaving every goddamn light in the house on 24/7, I _would_.”

 

Rick laughed and chuckled, keeping up just enough to throw in the occasional “uh huh” while Shane went on and on, rambling and venting about his marriage and his life, but he wasn’t really listening to what he said. No, he was too busy wondering what _sweet things_ Negan had to say about him at the party.

 

Those thoughts fell by the wayside as soon as Rick and Shane ran out of running trail and emerged back into their neighborhood. Negan was standing side by side with Gareth in his driveway. They were smiling, laughing and talking, both taking turns pointing and shaking their heads as they stared under the hood of Gareth’s truck. As they got closer, Rick could hear their conversation.

 

“So what do you think’s making her stall on me?” Gareth asked, intentionally looking Rick in the eyes with his hands now up on the hood, making sure he could see just how easy it would be to slam it down into the back of Negan’s head.

 

“I think you’ve got a clogged EGR valve. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen, twenty minutes to replace if I had the part. I can run you down to O’Reilly’s, they probably have the part in.”

 

Gareth nudged him on the shoulder. “Looks like your boy’s ran into some sorta mishap over there.”

 

“Shit.” Negan ran toward him and scooped him up in a hug. “What the fuck happened, honey? You alright?”

 

Rick stared over Negan’s shoulder, blue eyes blazing with contempt as he whispered something in his ear. He relished the way Gareth squirmed uncomfortably when Negan turned around to face him, his finger tugging at the neck of his shirt, sucking in enough air to hold himself in control.

 

“Can we do this a little later?” Negan asked. “Rick passed out while he was jogging. Banged himself up a little. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

 

“Sure,” Gareth breathed a visible sigh of relief. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he joked, gesturing to the broken down vehicle in front of him. “Hope you feel better, Rick.”

 

“Thank you,” Negan said, shaking Shane’s hand, throwing in a solid fist bump for good measure. “Thanks for seeing him home. I don’t know what he would’ve done without you.”

 

“Hey, don’t mention it. Let me know if y’all need anything. Feel better, man.”

 

***

 

Rick rested his still-spinning head against the cool marble tiles of the shower wall, watching as the blood and dirt gave way to the tanned skin underneath. He stared down at the floor as the rust colored water swirled and raced around the stainless steel grid before disappearing down the drain. If only his internal damage could wash away that easily.

 

By lying to Negan about what happened to him on his run, he had given Gareth all the control and power over his life. Just handed it right to him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it now. He won. In trying to keep everything, he lost it all anyway.

 

“Here’s you a clean towel. I’ve got some bandages and shit ready in the bedroom when you’re done.”

 

Rick didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at him. He couldn’t. He knew if he turned around he would just be looking at that beautiful trusting face.

 

“You sure you’re okay?” Negan walked over to the shower and slid the glass door open. “Rick? Maybe I need to take you to the hospital. Let them check you out to make sure you don’t have a concussion or something.”

 

He shook his head no and reached for his bottle of Irish Spring body wash.

 

“Did I do something wrong?”

 

_Oh, God. Don't let him blame himself. Tell him._

 

“Look, if you’re mad at me for talking to Gareth, I was only doing what you suggested. I’m trying to blend in while trying to do my job. Trying to be a good neighbor. He knocked on the door and asked if I could take a look at his truck. What would you have wanted me to do? Slap the cuffs on him and show him my fucking badge? Arrest him for six murders that we _still haven’t_ proven he’s guilty of? I’m trying here, Rick. I really fucking am. I can’t stand this motherfucker but I gotta _act_ like I do! Goddammit! I don’t know what you expect from me!”

 

Rick closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands as Negan’s voice rose. He stood there, tears hotter than the water coming out of the shower head streaming down his face. His throat was tight, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. He was exhausted and numb. How was he going to get through this?”

 

“That’s right. Go ahead and act like a fucking child about this, Rick. I’ll be in the bedroom waiting to patch up your knees.”

 

Rick quickly washed his hair and turned off the water. He grabbed the towel and, instead of drying off, he wiped the steam off the mirror so he could see himself. His eyes went straight to his mouth. Every time he thought about Gareth’s lips on his, he wanted to puke. He wet the corner of the towel and scrubbed until they were hot and red, almost bleeding and throbbing with pain.

 

Turning off the bathroom light, he walked out and headed for the bedroom. Still naked, he sat on the edge of the bed next to Negan and stared at the floor, waiting for whatever was coming next. It wasn’t what he expected.

 

“I’m sorry I yelled you,” Negan said, guilt oozing in his tone. “I know how he made you feel… the things he’s said to you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m sorry.”

 

“I didn’t pass out,” Rick whispered, surprising himself by saying the words out loud. “I didn’t pass out, and I didn’t fall.”

 

“What?”

 

“I lied to you,” his voice was broken and empty. “I lied about what happened and I can’t live with it. I can’t live with myself. I care about you too much to…” Rick fell into Negan’s arms, resting his head on his shoulder as he cried. “I care about you too much to lie to you.”

 

Negan’s chest began to rise and fall sharply out of anger and fear. “What happened?” he asked, bracing himself for the truth as he reached up, caressing the side of Rick’s face with a shaky hand.

 

“I stopped for a minute so I could catch my breath and get a drink of water,” his body jerked with sobbing hiccups. “I heard something in the trees. I thought it was Gareth. Thought he was following me. But a deer jumped out and scared me. He ran right out in front of me. That’s when I heard his voice.”

 

“Gareth?”

 

“Yes.” Rick tightened his arms around Negan’s waist. “I didn’t have my phone. I couldn’t call you,” he sniffed, wiping his nose with the heel of his hand. “Thought about trying to outrun him. But I didn’t. I just said that I needed to get back home, that you’d be waiting on me with lunch. He offered to walk back with me. I told him I didn’t want him to, but he did anyway. He kept talking about wanting me and him to get to know each other. I made it clear that I didn’t want to. He accused me of leading him on with the way I dressed and he put his hands in my shirt. Rubbed my back and my stomach.”

 

Negan took a deep breath, his knuckles were white as he gripped and twisted the denim covering his knee.

 

“I shoved him off of me,” Rick continued. “He fell and I told him all I wanted to do was go home. But he got up and put his hand in his pocket.” He touched the wet spots on Negan’s jeans where his tears had dripped. “He told me to turn around and start walking. I just knew he was going to pull a gun out and shoot me in the back. I kept waiting for it.”

 

Negan reached up and swatted one of his own tears away, rocking Rick back and forth on the bed like a small child.

 

“He made me walk in between the trees. That’s when he tased me with a stun gun. It hurt so bad. When it was over, I fell face first. He threatened me with it again and told me to roll over. He climbed on top of me and kept the gun against my neck.”

 

“Did he…?”

 

“No.” Rick could feel some of the tension leave Negan’s rigid body. “He’s sick, Negan. Way more than we thought. One minute he was calm and sweet, the next he was threatening you and screaming at people who weren’t even there. He said he didn’t want to hurt me and promised not to do anything to you as long as I played by his rules.”

  
  
“And what are his fucking rules?”

 

“That I don’t tell you what he did… and I give myself to him. Willingly. He made it a point to tell me that I _would_. He was so sure of it.”

 

“That it? That’s everything?”

 

Rick shook his head against Negan’s shoulder. “He kissed me. I tried to turn away but he forced it on me.” His tears started falling again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out there. I’m so sorry. His phone rang and he finally left. I don’t know what he would’ve done to me if it hadn’t. I’m so fucking stupid.”

 

“Hey,” Negan whispered, pulling him up to sit in his lap. “None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it. We didn’t know how far gone this guy was. Now we do. Now we know. The way I see it, that gives _us_ the upper hand. We’ll figure this out, baby. _Together_. I know we will.”

 

Rick wiped his face with his hand and sat back to look at him. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

 _Please don’t leave me for Seattle. Please don’t go._ He couldn’t make himself say it.

 

“Rick?”

 

“We need to have the locks changed.”

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homophobic slurs mentioned.

Under the shade of the patio umbrella, Rick sat on the edge of the wicker armchair across from Hershel. He reached behind him, grabbing the red and white striped throw pillow and wrapped his arms around it, hiding his escalating tension with restless motion. “I know it was a careless thing to do, Hershel. I get that. But at least we know what we’re dealing with now.”

 

Hershel leaned to one side, picking up his glass of iced tea off the table. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Rick. You and Negan… you boys have become like family to me.” After swirling the ice around in his drink, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a couple generous gulps to help beat the Georgia heat. “I just don’t know if this thing is worth the risk anymore.”

 

“No,” Rick urged. “Don’t take us off of the case. After everything I’ve gone through to get to this point… I want to keep going. I want to see him behind bars more than anything now. We’ll be careful.”

 

Hershel rubbed the outside of the glass back and forth across his forehead, the cold drops of condensation offering him some much needed relief. “You’ve got Eugene inside going over the house top to bottom with an RF detector, looking for hidden cameras and microphones.” They turned their heads toward the back door at the same time, the whirring sound of an electric drill assaulting their ears. “You’ve got a locksmith here, changing every lock to the house, because Negan gave him access to his keys. I don’t call that being careful.”

 

“Negan _dropped_ his keys,” Rick defended. “He didn’t do it on purpose. And Eugene is just a precautionary measure.”

 

“So, you’re not _sure_ if he was inside or not?”

 

Rick dropped his head. He had too much respect to lie to this man. “I’m almost certain he was. Negan swore up and down that my keys were gone, but when we came back home, right before my jog, they were hanging exactly where they were supposed to be. No one else could have done it.”

 

Hershel’s only response was silence, a deep feeling of disappointment registering on his face.

 

“But we’re taking care of it,” Rick insisted. “Negan isn’t bringing Gareth back here until he gets the all-clear text from me. And before you say anything about that, he’s playing it safe. He’s got his gun on him. We’ve both agreed, that if one of us leaves here without the other, we take our weapon. He’s sick,” Rick glanced up the hill behind their house. “Gareth is a sick man. He’s dangerous. We know that now.”

 

Hershel sighed deep and heavy, scrubbing a hand through his white beard as he leaned forward in his chair. “You and Negan sat in my office before you started this case,” he barked, pointing an accusing finger. “I showed you the images of six, _six dead bodies,_ Rick. Dammit,” he slapped his knee with the flat of his hand out of frustration. “That _alone_ should have told you how dangerous this was. How dangerous _he_ was.”

 

Rick swallowed hard. He couldn’t argue with that. How could he? He knew, as cold and abrasive as Hershel’s words were, as much as they hurt to hear, they were true. Still clutching onto the pillow, he sank back into his seat. “You’re right,” he defeated. “I screwed up. I let personal shit get in the way and I’m… I’m sorry.” He shrugged, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, watching as a jet left a contrail across the sky. “I know it’s no excuse, but it wasn’t easy at first. Trying to adjust to a new life in a new house. A new husband.” Rick traced his fingers over the healing scratches on his arm. “I won’t lie, I faced a few moments when I wasn’t sure if I could go through with this. But it’s different now,” he cracked a small smile, fighting hard to squelch it. “He’s okay. _We’re_ okay.”

 

***

 

After pulling into the fourth auto part store parking lot, taking Gareth on a wild goose chase to buy Rick some time, Negan finally got the text he’d been waiting for.

 

**Rick: Locks are changed. Eugene is gone. Didn’t find anything.**

 

“Fucking spam emails,” Negan lied, tucking his phone back in his pocket before pulling his keys out of the ignition. “I got a feeling we’ll find what we’re looking for this time.”

 

He and Gareth were in and out of the store in less than five minutes, a brand new EGR valve in hand.

 

“How are the roses doing?” Gareth asked on the drive back home.

 

“Roses?” Negan’s eyes darted back and forth between the road and the air conditioning controls, fingers fumbling to adjust the temperature. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Rick’s arms,” he motioned along the length of his forearm. “They’re all scratched up. Said it happened when he was planting some rose bushes out back.”

 

Negan focused his eyes on the road ahead, avoiding the piercing stare he could feel boring into him from the passenger seat. “Oh!” he feigned a memory lapse. “ _Those_ roses. Yeah,” he laughed. “Nah… those puny bastards didn’t make it. Rick’s blaming this crazy ass weather, but I just don’t think he was cut out to be a gardener. I gotta give him an A for effort, though.”

 

Gareth pulled his receipt out, studying over it a minute before wadding it up in his fist and dropping it back down in the bag. “He ever say anything about me?”

 

Negan’s heart rate picked up a beat, unsure of where his question was leading. “What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know,” Gareth shrugged. “I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me very much. He’s never said anything to you about it, one way or the other?”

 

“Uh _no_ ,” he lied coolly, looking left, right and left again at the four-way stop. “He’s never said _anything_ about you, actually.” Negan started thinking about Rick, sitting in his lap, crying earlier. The things he had told him. He tried his damnedest to think about something else, _anything else_. But unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was the thought of him with Rick. Holding him down and kissing him against his will. Threatening him. He could still see the two burn marks the stun gun left on his lower back every time he closed his eyes. He looked down at his hands and the white-knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel. “What would make you think he doesn’t like you?” he managed, surprised he hadn’t said it through gritted teeth.

 

Negan pretended to listen to him, nodding his head occasionally as Gareth babbled on and on about one thing then another, when the only thing he _wanted_ to do was pull his gun out and kill him execution style. _One bullet in the back of your fucking head,_ he thought as he pulled into his driveway. _All I’d have to do is say that you attacked me because I found out about what you did to Rick._ He rested his right hand against his thigh, knocking his thumb against the rivet on his jeans as he mulled over the idea of reaching behind his back, drawing the weapon he had holstered under his shirt, and splattering his blood and brains all over the interior of his vehicle.

 

There was something eerily satisfying about the mental image his mind had conjured up of the gruesome fantasy scene. Gareth’s body slumped over in his seat, the shoulder belt the only thing holding him up. His hair dark and wet with blood, the back of his skull missing. Blood and brain matter dripping down from the roof upholstery, tapping out a rhythm as it landed, creating small puddles all around his lifeless body.

 

When he looked up, he noticed Rick moving around in the living room window, pulling the curtain back to peep out at them in the driveway. Forcing himself to take a slow, deep breath, he willed his tense muscles to relax, taking his hand away from his thigh. “Let me run in and grab my tools,” he smiled, hiding his disgust. “Then I’ll be right over, and we can get to work on your truck.”

 

***

 

Rick was in the kitchen, working to get a bottle of pain reliever open when Negan walked in. “What’s the matter?” he asked, pulling the bottle out of his hand, lining up the arrows and popping it open with ease. “You got a headache?”

 

Rick shook his head as he leaned over the counter on his elbows, his face a twisted grimace of pain. “My hips are sore,” he groaned. “That damn stun gun forced my muscles to contract.”

 

Negan handed him a couple of tablets and a glass of water. “I have to go help Gareth with his truck now. It shouldn’t take me long.” He walked toward the door to the garage, stopping in front of it. “I wanted to kill him today,” his voice was low and threatening, his eyes danced with darkness. “Thought about shooting him in the car. But after what he did to you… a fucking bullet in his brain is too easy. Too good for him. He deserves to suffer.” He turned the knob and flipped the garage light on. “And he _will.”_

 

Rick heard the promise that colored his tone as he watched the door close behind him. He stood there, listening to the sound of the garage door as it rumbled open. Maybe he should go out there with him. If this case ended by Negan murdering Gareth in cold blood in his own driveway, Hershel would think he had no control at all. Like family or not, Hershel wouldn’t want him on the force anymore.

 

Rick sat on the shaded porch steps, listening to Negan bark orders at Gareth while he worked. “Hand me the pliers,” he said, holding his free hand out. Without even looking, he could tell it was the wrong tool. “ _No_ , the pliers. That’s a _wrench_.” Gareth was too busy watching Rick to notice the difference.

 

The unmistakable sound of a well-known children’s song, played by a vast assortment of tingling bells, could be heard a short distance away. Hearing the excited shrieks of kids all over the neighborhood, Rick knew it could only be one thing—the ice cream truck. It was cool enough for a jacket during the late evenings and early mornings last week, but the current Georgia heat wave left Rick with a craving for something cold, something sweet.

 

He walked down the driveway, the hot pavement compelling him to walk even faster, crossing the grassy area that separated their house from Gareth’s. “I hear the ice cream truck Negan.” He deliberately avoided eye contact with Gareth, although he could see in his peripheral that he had readied a smile, in case he _should_ look his way. “It's so hot out today. Can I have some money?”

 

“I can get you some ice cream,” Gareth offered eagerly, nearly dropping the bolts Negan had placed in his hand so they wouldn’t get lost. “What do want? An ice cream sandwich? Snow Cone? Screwball?”

 

Rick ignored him completely, acting as if Negan were the only one standing there.

 

“My wallet’s in my pocket,” Negan said, holding his greasy, dirty hands up in front of him. “Take whatever you need, honey. You probably shouldn’t be out here in this heat after passing out earlier.”

 

Rick grabbed a five dollar bill and slipped his wallet back inside his pocket. “I'm okay,” he promised, kissing him on the cheek, certain that it left Gareth boiling mad with envy.

 

Jogging down the driveway to avoid prolonged contact with the hot asphalt, Rick got in line behind Jessie, planting his feet in a patch of cool grass.

 

“Mommy,” Jessie's little boy whined. “I want the chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, but they're all out.”

 

“Well pick something else.” Jessie smiled back at Rick. “That's a great cut,” she noted, running her fingers through the long hair in front. “Where’d you go to get it done?”

 

“I didn’t,” Rick answered, leaning around her to see the selection on the side of the truck, nodding when he saw they had what he was looking for. “My friend Beth cut it for me.”

 

“You're naturally curly, aren't you? I can show you how to straighten _this,_ and trim the shorter part some more. Give you more of a fade, make it a little more edgy.” She laughed, patting Rick on the shoulder. “I probably should have mentioned I'm a hairstylist.”

 

***

 

Negan looked up to see Rick walking down the sidewalk, laughing and talking with Jessie as he greedily sucked on the jumbo Bomb Pop in his hand. He looked over to Gareth, disappointment washing over his face the second he realized he wasn't coming back.  

 

“Alright,” Negan said, pulling a grease rag out of his tool box, wiping his hands off. “Give her a crank and let her idle for a minute.” He listened closely for any pinging or knocking sounds, slamming the hood down when he heard none and the truck continued to run smoothly.

 

“You gotta let me pay you for this,” Gareth insisted, reaching behind him for his wallet.

 

“No, no,” Negan waved him off. “That's not necessary.”

 

“Well, you gotta let me do _something_ to pay you back.” He looked over his shoulder and down the street to see Rick following Jessie into her garage. “I could cook a special dinner tonight. Nothing big. Nothing fancy. Just you, me and Rick.”

 

“Oh, uh.” Negan needed an excuse, and he needed it fast. “I got a few people coming by tonight. Just gonna relax. Grill some burgers. Drink a few beers.”

 

Gareth reached up, absently scratching his neck, hesitating. “Would… would I be imposing if I were to join you? I can bring something. _Anything._ You name it. I just don’t want to sit home staring at the TV again.”

 

 _Shit,_ Negan thought, realizing he’d cornered himself. “Uh, yeah. Why not? Why don't you grab a couple six-packs of Heineken and we’ll see you around seven.” _What the fuck did I just do,_ Negan wondered as he walked away. _There aren’t any friends coming over. No burgers to grill. Shit._

 

***

 

Negan was standing at the island when Rick walked in, thinking out loud as he hovered over a notepad with a pen in his hand. “We need beer,” he mumbled. “Ground beef, tomatoes, lettuce, chips and—”

 

“What do you think?” Rick asked, scratching at the loose hairs around his collar. “Jessie made me _edgy_ ,” he smiled, licking his lips as he finished the last of his popsicle.

 

Negan stifled a laugh when he got a load of Rick’s new hairstyle coupled with his popsicle-stained lips and tongue. “She sure as hell did. Goddamn, just look at you. You’re as pretty as a pickle. _Pickles_!” He started writing again. “We need pickles and onions.”

 

“Why are you making a list? What’s going on?”

 

“Now don’t get mad,” he sighed. “But I might have accidentally invited Gareth over tonight. Well… invited _himself_ is more like it.”

 

Rick laughed, thinking he’d meant it as a joke.

 

“We gotta throw this fucking thing together fast, but we need people. Run down the street and invite Lori and Shane. Jessie and Pete. Tell them to bring a couple of six-packs and be here by seven o’clock.” He touched his ballpoint pen to the tip of his tongue. “I’ll call Daryl. He can bring Jesus. Maybe you can get Maggie and Beth on the phone and—”

 

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re actually serious, aren’t you?” Rick scoffed, the smile long gone from his face. “Are you kidding me? After everything he did today? You want me to, to what, fucking party with him? You help him fix his truck, and now all of a sudden, you’re _best friends?”_

 

“Look,” Negan walked over, pulling him into an awkward, unreciprocated hug. “I fucking panicked, okay? He offered to make us dinner to repay me for helping him. What was I supposed to do? Let him poison one of us?” He felt Rick’s rigid body relax against him. “I told him we already had plans with some friends and... he asked if he could join us.”

 

“He’s different around me, Negan. You don’t know. That guy out there with you today… that wasn’t the same man with me in the woods.”

 

“I know that. Believe me honey, he’s not fooling any fucking body with this nice guy act. I _know_ why he wants to come over. I’m not stupid.” He smiled, feeling Rick’s arms wrap around him. “But you said he has to believe that I don’t know shit about what he did. This is how we do it. Make him _think_ he and I are friends.”

 

***

 

The familiar smell of burgers and hot dogs sizzling on a hot grill, the sounds of laughter, good conversation and all the best songs from the 80s and 90s combined together in the backyard, drifting through the warm evening air. The patio was lit with an intermingling of soft lights and shadows, and the orange glow from the fire pit, danced and twisted on the faces of old friends and new.

 

Rick was well into his fifth bottle of beer, and heavily considering going after a sixth. He wasn’t drunk, not really, but he wasn’t far from it either. The alcohol had helped him relax enough—not to _forget about_ Gareth’s dark looming presence—but to focus on it a lot less.

 

He kept himself surrounded by others as much as possible, hanging out mainly with Lori and Jessie, catching up with Maggie and Beth whenever he could. And while Shane didn’t seem to be too concerned with his wife’s new friendship with Rick, every once in a while, he could feel a jealous glare from Pete blazing against the back of his neck.

 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, holding up his empty beer bottle. “Don’t show anymore pictures of that baby till I get back.”

 

“Hey,” Negan whispered, putting his conversation with Daryl, Jesus and Shane on hold when he saw Rick reach for another bottle of beer. “Would you do me a favor?”

 

Rick threw his arms around Negan’s neck, hanging off of him with a tipsy smile on his face. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

 

“Whew,” Negan laughed, getting a whiff of Rick’s breath. “Someone’s been in the onion dip, huh?”

 

“A little,” he giggled, his eyes lazy with alcohol.

 

“Listen. I want you to eat something, something bigger than a handful of potato chips before you drink anymore, okay?” Negan kissed the top of his head. “You don’t wanna get fucking plastered, not tonight. Okay? Now, go and fix yourself a burger, find a quiet place to eat, _then_ you can have another beer.”

 

***

 

Rick popped the last bite of his cheeseburger into his mouth, wiping the ketchup and mustard off of his lips with the back of his hand before reaching for his red plastic cup of Coke. The ice had melted in the heat, watering it down to a pale, flavorless liquid. Not bothering to look behind him, he dumped the drink over his shoulder onto the grass behind him.

 

“Whoa,” Gareth laughed, sending a wave of chills over Rick’s body. “Is that any way to treat one of your guests?”

 

“I didn’t see you,” Rick managed, gathering his trash in his hands, moving to stand from the wicker sofa.

 

“Don’t rush off,” Gareth insisted, putting his hands on Rick’s shoulder to keep him seated. “I’ve been aching to talk to you since I got here.” He walked around, sitting down beside him on the couch, knocking the drops of diluted soda off of his pant legs. “That new hairstyle of yours, it’s _so_ sexy. You keep teasing me like this and I… I just don’t know what I’m gonna do. I don’t know if I’m gonna be _able_ to wait.”  
  
“Wait for what?” Rick gritted through clenched teeth.

 

He rubbed his palm over one of Rick’s sore knees, making him hiss and pull away. “Wait for you to come to me. You’re making it so hard, sugar. Making _me_ hard. Tell me, are you doing that on purpose?”

 

“I gotta go.”

 

“ _Do_ you?” Gareth asked, throwing one of his legs over Rick’s lap. “I only want to talk to you for a little bit. Visit with you.” His features grew stony. “You sure as hell didn’t seem to have a problem talking to your group of girlfriends over there.”

 

“Don’t call them that.” Rick looked over his shoulder. Negan had his back turned, facing the grill again, working to scrape the charred bits of meat off of the hot grates. “We’re just friends.”

 

“Friends, huh?” Using the tip of his pointer finger, Gareth traced a lazy pattern of swirls over Rick’s arm, all the way down to his hand, tangling their fingers together. “Well what does that make me?” he asked, rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of Rick's knuckles. “Am _I_ your friend?”

 

“You’re my _neighbor,”_ Rick emphasized, pulling his hand away, pushing Gareth’s leg off of his lap as he moved over further on the couch.

 

 _“Hmm,”_ Gareth wet his bottom lip with his tongue, inching his way back beside Rick. “If I’m your neighbor, and uh, let’s say I was in need of a little sugar, would you let me borrow some? That’s what neighbors do right? Lend each other _sugar_.” He touched his cheek, letting his hand drift to his chin, his gaze falling to his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about those sweet lips ever since you gave me a taste this afternoon.”

 

“Negan is standing right over there.”

 

“Do you want to keep him that way?” Gareth asked, leaving the rest of his question dangling in the air with an unspoken threat. “Now, how about you show me how neighborly you really are. How about you give me another taste of—” Gareth pulled away, changing the subject _and_ his behavior quickly. “I’m telling you, man, he had that damn truck purring like a kitten in less than twenty minutes.” He looked up. “Hey. We were just talking about you.”

 

Rick stared, blinking at him in confusion, until someone slipped up behind him, a pair of big, strong hands covering his eyes.

 

 _“Sweet pea,”_ Negan sang. _“Apple of my eye. Don’t know when and I don’t know why. You’re the only reason I keep on coming home.”_ He walked around and pulled Rick to his feet, wrapping his arms around him, dancing him back toward the safety of the small crowd of people. _“Sweet pea. What’s all of this about? Don’t get your way all you do is fuss and pout. You’re the only reason…”_ He stopped singing, looking back to see Gareth, still sitting by himself in the dark corner of the patio. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I got distracted and I... I should’ve fucking paid more attention.”

 

***

 

It was dark now, the muggy heat of the day long gone, chased away by a breeze of clean, crisp air. Now cloudless and black, the sky above was dotted with the light of a million faint twinkling stars. The alcohol continued to flow like water, while the music and hollow conversations continued to grow louder.

 

After another handful of beers, Rick was laughing again, dancing and bouncing his way across the deck floor with Lori, Maggie and Beth. Shane and Negan couldn’t—nor did they try—to suppress their fits of laughter as the four inebriated individuals attempted to do the Reebok to ‘Return Of The Mack’.

 

When the song ended and the laughter and applause died down, Rick found his way to Negan, straddling his lap in one of the patio armchairs. “Hey, baby. I’m so glad you’re mine. You’re so fucking pretty. Just look at him.” He grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks together so tight he gave him a fish mouth, turning him toward Shane. “Don’t you think he’s pretty?”

 

“Well,” Shane laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Man, I don’t really swing that way, but if I had to answer… hell I guess I’d say… yeah he’s pretty.”

 

A rare wave of embarrassment tinted Negan’s cheeks.

 

“Guess what,” Rick whispered loudly, leaving Negan’s face soaked in sloppy, drunken kisses. “I’m so horny.”

 

“Shh,” Negan laughed, patting a hiccupping Rick on the back. “We don’t say things like that out—”

 

Someone cranked the music up to a near disturbing-the-peace level.

 

_Now I’ve had the time of my life_

_No, I never felt like this before_

_Yes I swear, it’s the truth_

_And I owe it all to you_

 

Jessie ran over and pulled Rick out of Negan’s lap. “You have to do this with me!” she yelled over the music. “Dirty Dancing is my favorite movie!”

 

“Oh shit,” Negan said, laughing as he peeped through the fingers covering his eyes. “I can’t watch this.”

 

Everyone gathered around the tipsy duo as they wrapped their arms around each other, moving their bodies to the music. Rick dipped her then spun her around, running his fingers down the underside of her arm, going lower and lower, stopping at the small of her waist.

 

When the tempo picked up and the beats got louder, the two of them just _went for it,_ leaving everyone in awe as they moved their feet, stomping the wooden deck beneath them in a sexy, ballroom-type dance. Their moves were so fluid and hypnotic, grinding and grating their hips together in time to the music. It was as if they had practiced this routine together a hundred times.

 

They were laughing the entire time. There was nothing sensual, nothing sexual about it at all. It was just a dance. They were supposed to move that way. But the second Negan heard a beer bottle shatter against a nearby tree, he knew what was coming.

 

“Get your fucking hands off of my wife!” A very drunk and jealous Pete came out of nowhere, sucker punching Rick in the jaw, sending him reeling into a small table, bottles and cups flying in every direction. “Who the fuck do you think you are, faggot? Fonzie over there isn't enough for you? You gotta have my wife, too?” While Rick was down, still trying to recover from the unexpected blow, Pete kicked him in the ribs. “Everything was fine in this neighborhood until all of you fucking cock gobblers started moving in!”

 

Negan and Gareth both rushed to Rick’s aid, Shane managing to grab Gareth by the arms, holding him back. “This ain’t your fight, man.”

 

Pete, still kicking hell out of Rick’s ribs, suddenly found himself airborne before getting slammed to the ground, hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. “That is enough!” Negan shouted above him, wrapping both hands around Pete’s throat. “It was just a fucking dance!”

 

“I saw him,” Pete choked out through his restricted windpipe.

 

Gareth broke out of Shane’s hold, running straight to Rick. “Are you okay?” he asked, tears flooding his eyes. “Answer me, Rick. Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine!” Rick snapped, getting to his feet and holding his side, the blows sobering him up.

 

“If you _ever_ put your hands on my husband again… ” Negan hissed, spit flying out between his clamped teeth. “I’ll fucking lay you in your goddamn grave! Do you understand me? Say yes, prick! _Say yes!”_ he repeated, tightening his grip a little.

 

“Yesss,” Pete whispered, fading fast under Negan’s powerful hold.

 

***

 

“You sure you're okay?” Negan swapped out Rick’s melting ice pack for a solid one, examining his bruised, swollen jaw. “It doesn’t feel broken?”

 

“No.”

 

“And your ribs? Do they—”

 

“I said I’m fine. I just want to go to bed.” He lifted his eyes to Negan, shame etching his face. “I didn’t… that dance didn’t mean anything. Not the way Pete thought. I swear… I was just…” The rest of Rick’s words died mid-air, having just enough alcohol left in his system to make him emotional.

 

“I know that, Rick. I know.” Negan put his arms around him, holding him close, but minding his sore body. “I wasn’t angry. Hell I didn’t know you had moves like that,” he laughed, stroking Rick’s back.

 

“Jessie’s my friend,” he sniffed, burying his face in Negan’s chest, balling his shirt in his fist. “Lori, too. I like them. I like talking to them. Just like Beth and Maggie.” He drew a deep breath and yawned, his body relaxing where he stood.

 

“Let’s get you to bed, baby”

 

After brushing their teeth, Negan helped Rick undress, leaving him standing in his cobalt blue briefs while he turned the covers down. Rick fell into bed and was sound asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 

Negan stretched in the window, scratching the back of his head as he looked down at the mess of paper plates and beer bottles still littering the patio. He thought long and hard about going down there and cleaning it up now, but, looking back over his shoulder, he watched Rick as he slept, his bare chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing.

 

 _That shit’s not going anywhere,_ he thought, stripping his own clothes off and crawling into bed next to him, carefully snuggling against his warm flesh.

 

The crickets chirping outside and the steady sound of Rick’s light snoring soon sent him into a deep, dreamless slumber, making the night slip away fast… too fast.

 

At 5:36 am… a loud sound blared and buzzed from the nightstand beside Rick. He grunted and groaned confusedly, fingers groping, searching blindly in the dark to find the snooze button. _Where is that damn thing?_ He lifted his pounding head off of his drool-saturated pillow, finally realising it wasn’t the alarm—it was his cell phone.

 

He grabbed it, nearly pulling the charger out of the wall with it. “Hell…” he cleared his dry throat and tried again. “Hello.”

 

“Rick!” It was Jessie. She sounded absolutely frantic. “Have you seen Pete? He never came home last night!”

  



	13. Chapter 13

With his mind still muddled with sleep and his eyes barely open, Rick sat up in the dark and swung his legs out of bed, trying to shake some of the numbness out of the hand he had tucked under him as he slept. “Negan.” His voice was strained, edged with the pain and soreness in his bruised ribs as he stood to turn on the light. “We gotta wake up. I just got off the phone with Jessie. She…” 

 

When he looked back toward the bed, Negan wasn’t there. He checked the bathroom, catching nothing more than the faint, lingering waft of his hair gel. After finding nothing in the other three bedrooms or the half bath down the hall, he headed downstairs, an unknown fear sinking like a stone in the pit of his stomach. “Negan?” It was too dark for him to see where he was going, let alone make out the shape of another human being. “You down here?”

 

“I’m in here.”

 

Rick followed the direction of the voice, feeling around for the kitchen light on the wall. Negan was sitting at the island with both elbows resting on the butcher block, the heels of his hands supporting the weight of his head. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?” 

 

He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but the same pair of jeans he’d worn last night. “And what are you doing up so early?” He stepped closer, gasping in shock when Negan lifted his head to look at him. “God, what the hell happened to you?”

 

His neck and chest were covered in dirt and broken blades of grass, his bottom lip fat and split, and a thick smear of dried blood beneath his nose. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, the middle one on his right hand bloody with a deep gash. 

 

Taking note of the tight set of Negan’s jaw and his stubborn posture, Rick approached him cautiously. “What happened?” he asked again, gently closing his hand over one of Negan’s forearms, breathing a sigh of relief when he softened at the touch.

 

“Pete happened,” Negan answered with a futile attempt at a smile, his busted lip quickly rejecting, turning his effort into a painful grimace. “I went to bed when you did and went straight to sleep. A little after four o’clock, I woke up to the sound of someone beating down the front door.”

 

“What did he want?” Rick lifted Negan’s hand, examining the worst of his injuries under the brightness of the overhead lights. “That’s gonna need a stitch, maybe two.”

 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Negan insisted, studying the amount congealed blood on his knuckles. “Most of this isn’t even mine. And Pete never really  _ said  _ what he wanted exactly,” he shrugged. “Just fucking clobbered me as soon as I opened the door.” He reached up, lightly patting the side of his sore nose with the tip of his finger. “Next thing I know, the two of us are scrapping all over the goddamn lawn like cats and dogs.”

 

Rick turned around, remembering the small first aid kit Maggie put in one of the kitchen drawers the day they moved in. “Jessie called. Said Pete never made it home last night.” Taking what he needed from the kit and a small bottle of super glue from the drawer, he pulled a chair up close to Negan and got to work on his hand. “We need to check on her. She didn’t sound like herself.”

 

***

 

Rick and Negan could hear shouting before they reached Jessie’s front porch. Walking up to the double doors, Rick gave one of the heavy slabs of wood his best  _ cop knock _ . “Jessie!” He knocked again, using the side of his fist to pound on the door, harder, louder this time. “Jessie! It’s Rick! Open the door!”

 

When the shouting stopped and the door finally swung open, instead of seeing Jessie’s friendly eyes staring back at him, Rick found himself face-to-face with a very angry teenager, her oldest son, Ron. 

 

“What the hell do  _ you  _ want?”

 

“Ron!” 

 

“No, mom!” He was sporting a busted lip, much in the same fashion as Negan. “This is the asshole that caused my dad to leave, isn’t it? You fucked everything up because you don't know how to keep your dick in your pants!” 

 

“That's enough!” Jessie snapped, pointing a demanding finger toward the stairs. 

 

Rick twisted his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. “Your mom and I are just friends. We—” Before he could say anything else, Ron wadded a piece of paper up in his fist, throwing it in his face before running upstairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

 

After reading the crumpled note,

 

_ Going back to Maryland. And don’t fucking follow me! Rick can consider you and the boys his problem from now on. Exactly what you wanted though, wasn’t it? This was all part of your little plan. Hatched you up one hell of scheme to get rid of me, didn’t you? _

 

_ Congratulations. He wins! Unhappy little housewife finally found herself a new boy toy. Really hope he knows what to do with you. Can’t imagine his kind being all that skillful around a pussy. Have a nice fucking life together. _

 

Rick folded it quickly and stuffed it in his pocket, walking inside the front entryway.

 

“I’m sorry.” Jessie stayed two steps ahead of Rick, avoiding eye contact as she gathered the broken pieces of a crystal vase laying shattered in the floor. “My son, he shouldn’t have talked to you like that. He’s a lot like his—” She stopped, allowing herself the luxury of a short cry. “It was like this before and he got help,” she sniffed. “I helped him. And things were good. For a long time… things were good between me and Pete.”

 

When Rick knelt down to help her with the glass, she turned and faced the other way. 

 

“He hit you, didn’t he?” he asked, already certain of the answer. “Just like he did, Ron. That why you won’t look at me?”

 

“Mom?” Sam’s small, muffled voice called out from somewhere unseen. 

 

Jessie gasped, jerking her head toward the sound, inadvertently revealing the battered left side of her face. “I’m coming Sam!” She ran over to a closet, getting down on her hands and knees. “It’s okay,” she promised, speaking to her youngest son softly through the wooden slats of the bi-fold doors. “You can come out now.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Rick looked back to Negan as they listened to the repetitive sound of several barrel bolts being unlatched by their levers from inside the closet before the doors slowly creaked open. “I’m calling the police,” Rick stated, picking up a landline handset from the kitchen counter. 

 

“Don’t.” Jessie pushed the hair away from Sam’s forehead, wet with sweat from the lack of air in the closet. 

 

“Excuse my language kid,” Negan joined in. “But Pete’s sorry ass deserves to be in jail for what he did.”

 

“You got your little boy locked inside a closet,” Rick gestured to her frightened son as he buried his face against his mother’s chest. “Look at you and your other son. Not to mention what he did to my husband. Dammit, Jessie. Don’t make excuses for this shit.”

 

“You don’t understand. Pete doesn’t mean to do this.” Jessie swatted a tear away with the back of her hand. “There are things in his life that happened—”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

_ “Please,” _ Jessie urged, solemn green eyes imploring Rick to put the phone down. “Calling the police only makes him worse. It makes him angrier. Trust me. He’s on his way back to Maryland. Just let him go.”

 

***

 

“You need something for pain?” Rick asked, bending over to look for two clean coffee mugs in the unemptied dishwasher, his own discomfort causing his breath to catch when he stood up straight. He laughed, holding his tender ribs as he reached up for a new box of Donut Shop single-serve coffee pods from the cabinet. “I can’t believe we got our asses kicked by the town drunk.”

 

“And I can’t believe the dickhead‘s just gonna get away with it,” Negan answered, holding an ice cube against the split in his lip, trying not to laugh. “Guy beats the shit out of four people—one of them his own goddamn kid—and the asshole walks away scot-fucking-free?” He shook his head, scowling, the taste of defeat bitter on his tongue.

 

Rick finished pouring the rest of the water into the reservoir and put one of the mugs under the drip, programming the machine for a strong a cup of coffee. Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms and ankles, his lips twitching with unspoken words behind them.

 

“What is it?” Negan asked, able to look at Rick and know he had something on his mind.

 

He pulled the note out of his pocket, laying it in front of Negan. “I don’t think Pete’s walking anywhere.”

 

Negan read the note and looked up with his palms in the air, unsure of what Rick was hinting at. “He’s going back to Maryland because he thinks you and Jessie are fucking each other behind his back. How is that not walking away?”

 

Rick searched the kitchen over for a pen. When he found one, he took the note, made a few marks on it, then handed it back to him.

 

Reading it again, Negan’s mouth fell open in dumbstruck incredulity.

 

_ G _ _ oing back to Maryland.  _ _ A _ _ nd don’t fucking follow me!  _ _ R _ _ ick can consider you and the boys his problem from now on.  _ _ E _ _ xactly what you wanted though, wasn’t it?  _ _ T _ _ his was all part of your little plan.  _ _ H _ _ atched you up one hell of scheme to finally get rid of me, didn’t you? _

 

_ C _ _ ongratulations.  _ _ H _ _ e wins!  _ _ U _ _ nhappy little housewife finally found herself a new boy toy.  _ _ R _ _ eally hope he knows what to do with you.  _ _ C _ _ an’t imagine his kind being all that skillful around a pussy.  _ _ H _ _ ave a nice fucking life together. _

 

“Son of a bitch,” Negan whispered, eyes sweeping over the underlined letters again and again. Gareth had all but  _ signed  _ his name. “You think he got to Pete? You think he’s…?”

 

“Do we care?” Rick asked, raising an eyebrow as he handed him his favorite flavor of creamer and a strong mug of hot black coffee. “I’m serious,” he added, taking note of the questioning look on Negan’s worse for wear bruised face. “I know what you’re thinking. We’re sworn to protect and serve, I know that. But people like Pete,” he shook his head. “People like that deserve to die. Now whether he has or he hasn’t, I don’t know. But as far as everyone  _ out there _ knows… all  _ you and I _ know is that Pete left for Maryland.” 

 

Police officers Rick and Negan might have looked at this situation a little differently. They would have taken this information to the lieutenant so fast it would have made your head spin. But  _ married couple _ Rick and Negan? Well—would it really hurt anyone if they just looked the other way once? If they found Pete alive, who knows what harm he would do to his already-suffering family once they were reunited. They’ve seen it happen one too many times. Maybe this time, they could forget about justice, and save someone’s life.

 

“Say something if you feel different about it,” Rick shrugged, willing to hear Negan’s side of things. “You wanna take the note to Hershel and let them investigate it?”

 

Negan looked down, his eyes tracing the fine grain of the unfinished birch, then shook his head. “You’re right. I grew up with a man like Pete.” He slid the tip of his tongue over his sore bottom lip, the coppery tang of blood spreading over his taste buds, evoking memories that were best left locked away. “My stepdad used to smack me around all the fucking time, too. Said he was trying to  _ teach  _ me how to be more manly, whatever the hell that means.” He tried to fake a laugh, running the pad of his thumb around the edge of his mug, watching the steam rise and twine over the top of it, but it sounded choked, strangled and forced, even to his own ears. “It backfired on him, though. Because I remember the beatings more than the lessons he was trying to teach.”

 

Negan found himself suddenly surrounded by smell of French vanilla and a reassuring warmth as Rick brought his arms around him from behind. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss against the back of his shoulder, his coffee-hot breath passing through the folds of his shirt, heating his skin even more. “You didn’t deserve that.” He coasted his hand over Negan’s chest, savoring the feel of his heart beating beneath his palm. “No one should have to live like that.”

 

Negan reached up, closing his hand over the back of Rick’s, holding it there. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel. It was more than just the presence of his body. No, this was definitely something far beyond muscle and skin. Whenever Rick was this close, he could feel something tugging at him—pulling at him from deep inside. Something that made him  _ feel…  _

 

He couldn’t find the words to describe it. Maybe this was something that  _ couldn’t  _ be delineated in words. Whatever it was, whatever that feeling was that surfaced when he was around him, he knew it was something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

 

“You wanna pile back into bed and sleep a few hours?” Rick asked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “ _ Or... _ I could make you something to eat. It doesn’t have to be Saturday to enjoy cartoons and a big bowl of cereal.”

 

Negan smiled, catching a tear with one of his bruised knuckles before Rick had the chance to see it. “Nah,” he sniffled, shaking off his emotions. “You know what I’d really like to do? I’d like to get away from here for a little while. Let’s just get in the fucking car and  _ go _ . Just follow the road and see where it takes us.”

 

“We can do that.” Rick walked around, sitting on the stool beside him to finish his coffee while it was still hot. “But, is it okay if we don’t just follow the road? I kinda already know where I want to take you.”

 

“Oh.” Negan lifted his eyes, wrinkling his brow. “You got a surprise up your sleeve, Rick?”

 

“I wouldn’t call it a surprise,” Rick offered, the look on his face conveying nothing. “It’s just something that I want to do. Something that should’ve been done a long time ago.” 

 

***

 

Negan stared at the in-dash GPS monitor as Rick barreled down the highway, his hands on ten and two of the steering wheel. “You never did tell me why we were going all the way to Savannah,” he reminded him, ripping into his king-size package of peanut butter cups he had bought when they stopped to exercise their legs back in Macon.

 

Keeping his eyes glued to the long stretch of dark pavement ahead of him, water-mirages dancing and shimmering over the hot asphalt, Rick picked up his ridiculously large cup of cherry-flavored ICEE. “You’re right,” he agreed, nodding his head as he pulled a half-melted mouthful through the straw. “I  _ didn’t  _ tell you.” His expression, from what could be seen around the mirrored lenses of his aviator sunglasses, revealed no signs of humor.

 

Too exhausted to spur with him about it any longer, Negan popped his last peanut butter cup into his mouth and threw his seat into a full reclining position, yawning loudly around his mouthful of candy. “Wake me up when we get… wherever the hell it is we’re going.”

 

Two hours and twenty-six minutes later, Negan woke up to someone gently shaking him by the shoulder. Confused about where he was, he sat up, looking around at everything through blurry eyes. 

 

“We’re here.”

 

He turned his head to the voice in the driver’s seat. Rick was clutching a bunch of freshly picked wildflowers in his hand, offering him a warm smile. “Where’s  _ here _ ?” he asked, a stale taste of peanut butter on his tongue. “And what’s with the flowers?” Blinking the sleep and sun out of his eyes, he looked out the windshield. What he saw, when his vision finally came into focus, confused him even more. “You brought me to a cemetery?”

 

“Come on,” Rick urged, opening his car door, his smile reassuring him as he reached the flowers over the console, putting them in his hand. “It’ll all make sense in a few minutes.”

 

Side by side, they treaded lightly through the neatly manicured grounds, studying all of the names and dates that were etched into the endless succession of marble headstones and grave markers as Rick kept count. “Fifteen, sixteen...  _ and  _ seventeen.” He stopped and pulled a hand-drawn map out of his pocket. “We’re gonna go this way now,” he pointed, counting the graves again as he walked. “One, two, three, four…”

 

Negan didn’t question him as he followed in his footsteps, the paths too narrow now to walk beside each other. 

 

So many graves, and all marked with a loved ones special way of saying goodbye. He saw Loving Mothers, Wives and Daughters. Beloved Fathers, Husbands and Sons. In Memory Of this person and that. Gone But Not Forgotten. Some had pictures, while others had poems or short prayers. One or two were neglected and left without flowers.  _ Maybe their last living friend or relative had died, _ Negan thought. Maybe there wasn’t anyone left to remember those people.

 

He looked up when he heard a soft gasp. “Rick?” He touched his shoulder, feeling the fragility residing there now. “Is everything okay?”

 

With tear-filled eyes and the same warm smile on his now-trembling lips, Rick turned around. “It will be soon.” Stepping to the side, he let Negan have a look at the headstone he had somehow managed to find. It was well-kept, and the vase was overflowing with an assortment of beautiful flowers. He looked out at the shiny slab of stone above it… then crumbled to his knees.

 

**_In Loving Memory of Our Son_ **

**_Ryan Duquette_ **

**_January 17, 1993 - March 27, 2010_ **

 

Rick glanced at the headstone one last time before walking away, allowing Negan the much-needed, much-deserved time alone with his boy—finally getting his chance at a long overdue goodbye. 

 

It took every last bit of strength he had inside him not to turn around, not to run back and comfort Negan as he began to howl in pain. 

 

_ He needs this,  _ Rick told himself, wiping his watery eyes, forcing his feet and legs to keep moving him in the other direction. He needs to go through this pain and sorrow as if the loss were fresh—as if he had just died. Going through this excruciating grieving process was the only way he would ever have any real closure. The only way he could ever truly start to heal.

 

Sure, Rick saw  _ that smile  _ that Negan wore like a mask from day to day. And he knew exactly what his over-the-top, overly-animated, able-to-make-anyone-around-him-happy laugh sounded like, too.  

 

But only Negan knew the images in his head every night as it hit the pillow. Only he knew the suffering from seeing the face of that one boy… the one person he was  _ supposed  _ to spend the rest of his life with. A life lost thanks to the poisoning of stupidity and ignorance, bigotry and prejudice, intolerance and fear. 

 

Satisfied that he had put enough distance between them, Rick planted himself on a cement bench under the cooling canopy of a large Tupelo tree and closed his eyes. It was so peaceful here, so quiet. Apart from the birds singing the notes of whatever mood or emotion that had possessed them—and the occasional buzz of passing insect—the cemetery was calm. But as a light breeze began to pick up, he swore, even with the distance that separated them, he could still hear the heart wrenching echo of Negan’s mourning. 

 

***

 

Sitting up on his knees, Negan wiped his eyes and crawled around to the side of the grave, placing Rick's wildflowers Rick on top. Lying down next to him—the way they used to talk in Ryan’s bedroom—he threw one arm under his head, and the other over the well-groomed patch of soft grass.

 

“My sweet boy,” he sniffed, his voice hoarse and raw from wailing. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come and see you sooner. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to say goodbye. It’s not because I didn’t want to, honey. Believe me, I did.” He smoothed his hand over the sod above Ryan’s entombed body. “But I didn’t know where you were, baby. I didn’t know where you were… buried.” He hesitated with the last word, but was able to accept it this time. “Your mom and dad they—they didn’t want me to know. They tried to make it so I’d never find you.”

 

“God,” he whispered, his tears flowing freely again, their saltiness stinging his eyes. “I hated them… I  _ hate  _ them,” he hissed, correcting himself. “For not accepting you for who you were.” He paused, trying to swallow the next set of words that were forming on his tongue. But he couldn’t. He needed to get them out. “I hated you,” he sobbed, wiping his dripping nose on the arm tucked under his head. “I hated you because you left me.”

 

He sighed, pulling a newly-sprouted dandelion weed off of his plot. “I was so angry. Angry with them. Angry with you.” Without realizing, he had gone from gently pulling weeds, to angrily ripping out handfuls of grass in his fist. “I was angry with the whole fucking world. You didn’t have to do this, Ryan. This wasn’t the answer. You didn’t have to die. We could’ve worked it out with or without your parents,” he sniffed. “Things were bad for me at home. I was gonna leave. I was gonna get to you somehow. I was gonna find a job. Find an apartment. So you and me… we could be together. All I wanted to do was take care of you. You, taking your own life, it only solved your problem. You only ended your pain. But me... I lost everything when I lost you. Everything except for that pain. I've carried it around with me all this time.” 

 

Negan spent the next hour and a half talking to Ryan. Telling him everything he  _ needed  _ to say—and everything he  _ wanted  _ to say. Kissing the palm of his hand, he laid it on the grave and sat up, continuing to caress the pillowy patch of bright green grass. “Before I go, I want to thank you. You taught me a lot of things while we were together, but the most important thing I learned from you was love. Because of you, I know what love is. I know what it’s all about. I know now, that when I say I love someone, it’s not because of who they are, it’s because of who _ I am _ when I’m with them.”

 

He looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath as he watched the clouds float past him. “I don’t think I’ll ever really get over losing you, baby. But I don’t think I’m angry. Not anymore. And hating you is the farthest thing from my mind now. I love you. I’ll always love you.” Spotting a tuft of chickweeds growing at the base of his stone, he leaned in a pulled it out, dusting the loose soil off of the shiny marble. “I miss you so much. Not a day goes by—not an hour—that I don’t think about you.” 

 

Craning his neck, Negan looked around, his eyes scouring the cemetery until he spotted Rick. He couldn’t help but laugh through his tears as he watched him run around the cement bench, both arms flailing in the air, swatting at the swarm of angry bees hellbent on getting him away from their secret stash of sweet honey. “You see that crazy son of a bitch running around over there?” he laughed again. “Well, he might not know it, but besides you, he's the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. You would have loved him.” He looked back over his shoulder again and smiled. “And if you don't any objections, I think I can too.”

 

***

 

Rick tromped into the kitchen, dropping his keys on the bar instead of walking the extra five steps to hang them on the hook. He groaned as he rubbed the back of his neck, moving his head around in a circular motion.

 

“What’s wrong with your neck?” Negan asked, grabbing a cold bottle of water out of the fridge. “Them damn bees get you there, too?” he laughed, poking him in the belly with his finger, mimicking the sound of a buzzing honey bee.

 

“I guess it’s stiff from driving so much.” He held his arm up, investigating the still-growing white welts on his arm. “And I outran most of those bees for your information.”

 

“Well they were honey bees,” Negan drawled, positioning himself behind him. “Maybe they thought you were something sweet. Let me have a little taste.” 

 

Rick closed his eyes, enjoying the tingles that travelled down his spine as warm breath and a soft tongue caressed his neck. 

 

“He's as sweet as Tupelo honey,” Negan crooned in his ear. “He's an angel of the first degree. He's as sweet, he’s as sweet as Tupelo honey. Just like honey, baby, from the bee.” He turned Rick around in his arms. He was blushing so hard he couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry your neck hurts. I’m sorry those fucking bees stung you. But what you did for me today…”

 

Hearing the break in his voice, Rick lifted his eyes.

 

“I could never thank you enough—I could never  _ ever  _ repay you for that.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Rick replied, wrapping his arms around him, holding him so close they could hear and feel each other's hearts beating. “I just wanted you to have what was owed to  _ you _ . What you rightfully deserved.”

 

Negan lifted him in the air, sitting his backside on the edge of the island. Stepping between his legs, he ran his hands up under the back of his shirt, skin hot and wet with a layer of sweat from the heat outside. Just as he leaned in to kiss him, someone knocked on the door.

 

“Shit,” Negan whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Jogging into the living room, he swung the door open.

 

“Negan Walker? We have a warrant for your arrest.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I said show me your hands, asshole!”

 

Recognizing the irritatingly familiar voice from work, Rick bolted into the living room. Leon Basset was a careless, empty-headed dolt of an officer who rubbed everyone he ever crossed paths with the wrong way. And Negan was no exception. In the six short months Leon had been in the precinct, they had butted heads on more than one occasion.

 

“What the hell’s going on?” he asked, watching in horror as Officer Basset stood at the front door with his weapon drawn on Negan as if he were some wanted fugitive. “Put that damn thing away before you kill someone, idiot.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that if I were you.”

 

Rick looked around, relief washing over him when he saw Officer Chambler standing behind Leon. “The safety’s on… and the dumbass forgot the bullets.” Tara opened her mouth to speak again, but swallowed her words after noticing the light gleaming from the wet, red spots on Rick’s neck, and the wrinkled disarray of his clothes.

 

Their eyes met in embarrassed silence before he quickly pulled the back of his shirt down, tugging and pulling his collar to cover the faint marks of passion Negan had adorned him with in the kitchen.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt _whatever_ it was you two were doing,” she smiled knowingly, turning her attentions to Negan. “But we got a call from uh…” she glanced down at the smudged ink scribbled on the back of her hand. “From a Pete Anderson at 131 Burdette Trail. Claims you assaulted him early this morning. Said you made threats against his life, too. Got orders from Hershel to bring you in regarding the battery claim.”

 

“Look at him,” Rick argued, annoyance coloring his tone as he pointed out to Tara the obvious injuries on Negan’s face. “He was just defending himself. He was defending me after Pete thought Jessie and I were—”

 

 _“Rick,”_ Negan interrupted him, shaking his head, stopping him cold with a stony glare. “This is about the fight between me and Pete. This doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else.”

 

Rick took the hint, understanding lighting his features as he nodded. They didn’t need to get Jessie or her kids involved in this anymore than they already were, especially if Pete was still in the area.

 

“You know how this shit works. It’s a case of his word against mine. I’ll be in and out, then back home in a couple hours tops.”

 

Leon holstered his empty and essentially useless gun, escorting Negan outside. When they reached the driveway, he took his handcuffs out from the rear of his waist belt and moved behind him. “Do have any weapons or drugs on you?” Slapping one cuff around is wrist tight enough to cut off the circulation to his hand, he jerked his other arm behind his back and shoved him face down over the front of his patrol car, fastening the other cuff just as tight.

“Goddammit!” Negan snapped, straining to look at the officer over his shoulder. “Do you have to be so fucking rough?”

 

Ignoring his protests, Leon kicked his feet apart to spread his legs, searching his pockets before moving between his legs with his free hand. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford—”

 

“Let go of my goddamn nutsack, fuckface!”

 

Leon tightened the grip he held on Negan’s arm, lifting his elbow to a position that sent shock waves of searing pain up into his shoulder. _“If you cannot afford_ _an attorney_ ,” he continued, a touch of venom beginning to creep into his adenoidal voice. “One will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

 

“Yes,” Negan hissed, breathing heavily as he leaned his forehead against the sun-heated hood of the car, attempting to relieve some of the pain and pressure being forced on his shoulder. “Yes, I understand. Can I _please_ give my husband a kiss before I go?”

 

“ _Hell_ no,” he answered hatefully, sucking a lungful of air in through the gap between his front teeth as he pulled his weapon-heavy pants up over his bony hips. Opening the back door, Leon shoved him into the stuffy heat of the backseat.

 

“Dude, stop being such a prick. You’re not impressing anyone.” Negan was never one of Tara’s favorite people on the force. Truth be told, she couldn’t stand the guy. But she wasn’t about to stand idly by and watch Leon pretend to be some kind of paramount hardass toward anyone who had been rendered defenseless with a pair of handcuffs. Rubbing her hand across Rick’s back, she jutted her chin in Negan’s direction with a casual nod. “It’s okay. You can go to him.”

 

Making his way toward the patrol car, Gareth’s malignant presence could be felt in the air—thick and ominous like the promised threat of an approaching storm. Even if he couldn’t physically see him, Rick knew he was nearby. Watching. Waiting.

 

Kneeling down on the hot asphalt, he ran his thumb over one of Negan’s knees, his jeans still carrying the dirt and grass stains from the cemetery. “You want me to ride down there with you? Maybe I can talk to Hershel, too. Explain everything.”

 

“No,” Negan answered, grimacing as the prickling tingle in his blood-starved fingers turned to pain. “I want you to go inside the fucking house and stay there until I get back. No jogging. No sitting on the porch. No visiting with Jessie or Lori. I don’t want you to open the door for anyone or any reason,” he cautioned, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. “I need to hear you say it, Rick.”

 

“I will. I’ll go inside and I'll stay there. I won’t open the door. I promise.”

 

“Okay!” Leon yelled, exasperation edging his tone as he banged on the trunk of the car with his the heel of his hand. “Let’s go already! It’s hotter than blue blazes out here!”

 

“You still got your keys on you?” Rick asked, growing increasingly annoyed with Leon’s uncompromising attitude. “Just in case it’s late when you get home.”

 

“In my pocket,” Negan answered, puckering his lips, smacking them together noisily with his eyes closed.

 

Rick smiled, fighting the laugh growing behind it as he stood up. Cupping one hand around the back of Negan’s neck, he lifted the other to his face. “Call me as soon as you can,” he whispered, tracing the outline of his tender bottom lip with his index finger before kissing him softly—once, twice, and a third time—leaving both of them hungry for a deeper taste.

 

“I don’t think so!” Leon shouted, pulling Rick away from the vehicle by his shirt and slamming the door shut, nearly hitting Negan’s knee in the process. “Y’all ain’t eating each other’s face in my car.”

 

A hard lump lodged itself deep in the back of Rick’s throat as those hazel eyes stared back at him dolefully through the tinted window. “I’ll see you in a little while,” he mouthed, blowing him a kiss from the tips of his fingers as the car backed out of the driveway, the empty feeling of being alone already settling in.

 

***

 

“The fucking hell is this?” Negan asked, finding himself being pushed and shoved toward the booking counter. “What are you doing? I thought I was just coming down here to talk to Hershel. Thought the cuffs and the excessive force was just for show.”

 

“Well you thought wrong,” Leon smirked, pulling the wallet out of his back pocket, fishing his keys, pocket change and phone out of the others, sliding everything across the counter to another officer before taking the handcuffs off of him. “Hershel’s out tying up the loose ends on another case right now, left me in charge of you until he gets back. And that might be a while.”

 

“Well, can I at least keep my phone?” he asked, rubbing the deep red marks around his wrists, trying to massage some of the feeling back into his hands and fingers. “I need to call Rick. Let him know I might be a little longer getting home.”

 

“No personal property allowed in the holding units, Negan. You know that.” Leon twisted the wedding band off of his finger, dropping it in the envelope with his other property. “Rick’s a big boy. He seems smart enough. I think he’ll figure it out when you don’t show up. Now, take off your shoes, take off your belt, then go stand on that blue X over there.”

 

“Uh _yeah_ ,” Negan bit back sarcastically, offering him a snide smile as he unbuckled his belt, yanking it out of its loops, the leather producing a small hiss as it slid over the denim. “I think I know what to do, Leon. I fucking work here.” Shaking his hair down over his eyes, he covered his eyebrow piercing to prevent him from taking it, too.

 

After posing for his mugshots and getting fingerprinted, he was ushered to the male dressing area where he reluctantly traded in his t-shirt and blue jeans for a baggy set of orange inmate scrubs, sliding his sock-covered feet into a translucent pair of plastic sandals.

 

“What time do you think—”

 

“He’ll get here when he gets here,” Leon asserted, unlocking the steel door to one of the temporary holding cells, supporting the weight of it with his foot as he pushed it open, motioning with a quick nod for Negan to go inside.

 

“Look,” Negan’s tone was soft, his sincerity unfeigned. “I admit it, okay? I’m an asshole. An award-winning, Grade A, sphincter-clenching asshole. I know I’m not the easiest person in the world to get along with and I’m sorry the two of us haven’t. But I’m not a fucking criminal, Leon. You have to believe me. Can’t you and I just let bygones be bygones and move on?” He dropped his gaze to the floor, shuffling his feet over the dirty concrete. “Please call Rick for me? Let him know I won’t be coming home as soon as I thought. Please,” he begged, hating to hear the desperation in his own voice.

 

Their eyes met for a second or two, but the only answer he got was a cruel smirk and the loud metallic sound of that heavy door clanging shut in his face, the echo made by the locks turning over on the other side crushing his soul.

 

_Shit._

 

With a heavy, hopeless sigh, Negan dropped himself down onto the metal bunk bolted to the wall, the thin vinyl mattress, if you could really call it that, offering him very little comfort. He’s seen these cells a million times, been inside every one of them. But not like this, not from this perspective. He looked around the small room, instantly feeling suffocated by its four cold walls. Staring at the chipping gray paint and the old concrete beneath it, he could see the traces of past inmates, the scrawlings they’d left behind. He swore, as he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the whispering of their mocking, ironic welcome in his ear.

 

Looking out at the tiny sliver of downtown Atlanta visible through his barred, sad excuse of a window, he wondered how much daylight was left. A few hours at the most, he imagined. He didn’t much like the idea of Rick being by himself in that house during the day, much less being alone at night. The only thing he could do was sit and wait, hoping that Hershel would be back soon.

 

***

 

Reaching for the sandwich sitting on the coffee table in front of him, Rick stuffed a corner into his mouth, taking a big bite before checking the time on his phone again. It was nearly 9:30. _Where the hell is he?_ he wondered, chewing the mouthful of food into one cheek, swiping the stray smear of mayonnaise away from the edge of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

 

He thought about trying Hershel’s cell again as he absentmindedly flipped through the TV channels, not really paying attention to what was playing. He had already left a voicemail and sent him a text, both of which were still unanswered, and Negan wasn’t answering his phone either. Shoving another corner of the sandwich into his mouth, he thumbed through his contacts and hit the call button to the station.

 

“Zone 5. This is Officer Basset.”

 

“Leon,” he swallowed the mouthful of bread and tuna, cramming a handful of sour cream and onion potato chips into his mouth, crunching them loudly into the phone. “It’s Rick. Let me talk to Negan for a minute.”

 

“Yeah…” Rick could hear Leon’s chair squeak as he leaned back in it, propping his feet up on the desk. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Inmates are not permitted to accept personal phone calls. You should know that better than anybody, Grimes.”

 

Rick paused for a long moment, listening to the static fry over the old phone lines in the office, and the sound of Leon breathing heavily through his open mouth. “Inmate?” he asked, massaging his temple with a hard-pressed knuckle, seeking to ease the sudden pounding in his head. “You locked him up? What the hell for?”

 

“I’m a busy man here, Rick. I can’t hang out on the damn phone with you all night answering all of your questions. Negan can fill you in on everything when he gets home. And stop ringing his cell. It’s getting on my nerves.”

 

“Just have Hershel call me whenever he—” A loud clunk sounded in his ear as Leon dropped the receiver back in its cradle. Rick sat on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the phone in his hand. What the hell was happening? Negan was the one who was attacked. He only acted in self defense. Why was _he_ locked up in a cell instead of Pete?

 

He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face and ran them through his hair, blowing out a long, frustrated breath before dropping them to his lap. Leon probably didn’t know what he was talking about. Most of the time, he didn’t. Hershel would _have_ to go back to the station before going home for the night. He usually headed out around 10:30 or 11. He would sort all of this out soon, most likely bringing Negan with him, dropping him off at home when he ended his shift.

 

He sighed, scratching his fingernails over the three bulging welts on his arm. The bee stings were more itchy now than they were painful. His hand drifted up to his neck, his fingers brushing over the tender skin where Negan had nibbled earlier, the dark raspberries his lips, teeth and tongue had created as he made a meal out of his flesh, marking him as his own.

 

He shivered, goosebumps erupting over his body just thinking about him. Thinking about how close they had come to losing control in the kitchen. Thinking about his touch and the way his warm breath felt as it drifted over his skin. The way his lips moved over the curve of his neck, tickling his ear, sending jolt after jolt of hot desire through his entire body, every last one of them making a beeline straight to the pounding need between his legs.

 

He hoped, when he came home tonight, that maybe they could pick up where they had left off. _Maybe_ , he thought, a hopeful smile stretching his lips, maybe they could. He glanced down at his partially eaten dinner on the coffee table. The combination of tuna and onion flavored chips lingering on his breath definitely wouldn’t set the mood for romance. Dusting the crumbs off of his t-shirt, he lifted the wrinkled fabric to his nose, nostrils flaring, his lips curling in disgust as he took in the musky smell of his body odor.

 

Turning off the TV, he dropped his plate off in the kitchen and headed upstairs for a much-needed shower. Plugging his phone up to charge on the nightstand, he stripped off his clothes, leaving them in an abandoned heap on the bedroom floor as he walked into the master bath.

 

After soaping up and giving his body a good scrub, he stood there, resting his hands on the wall, letting the hot water from the ceiling-mounted shower head rain down over his aching muscles, the steamy cascade offering his sore ribs a little relief, too. He’d give anything for a nice long soak in the hot tub outside, but he knew, with Gareth lurking around out there, that was completely out of the question.

 

Just as he reached up for his razor, wanting to tidy himself up a little below the belt before Negan got home, the lights went out. Rick found himself encased in a velvety darkness so thick, so deep, it was suffocating. Reaching out, he stumbled forward, his hands searching blindly for the lever to turn the water off.

 

Stepping out of the shower, soaking wet, water dripping and puddling in the floor, he held his hands out in front of him, feeling his way to the bathroom door. He stood still, waiting a few minutes for his eyes to adjust. From the hallway, he could see that their bedroom wasn’t as dark, the faint moonlight filtering through the windows was just enough for him to make out the outline of the bed.

 

He figured, given the time and the lack of electricity, the bed was as good a place as any to be right now. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted. Not bothering to towel off or dress, not even bothering to turn the covers down, he crawled from the foot of the bed to the pillows. Flattening himself out on his stomach, he fell asleep, telling himself Negan would be home soon.

 

***

 

Waking up to the unmistakable jangle of keys turning the lock to his cell door, Negan sat up, fighting to untangle himself from the ratty blanket Leon had mercilessly thrown at him earlier.

 

“You look like shit,” Hershel declared with a weak smile, folding his arms across his chest as he propped himself up against the concrete wall in front of him.

 

“I suppose I should.” Negan rubbed his eyes, pushing his messy hair back, combing through it with his fingers. “I _feel_ like shit.” He yawned, arching his stiff back, cracking his spine in several places until the vertebrae snapped back into place. “What time is it?”

 

“It’s a quarter till twelve. I’m sorry for taking so long to get—”

 

“Midnight?” Negan's eyes froze on Hershel's face in disbelief. “I've been locked up in this fucking shoebox for nearly seven hours?”

 

Hershel waved his hand, shaking his head in apology as he shifted the weight of his tired body to the other leg. “I’m dealing with that. I’ve already spoken with Leon about the way he handled things.” He sat down on the bunk next to Negan. “Talk to me about Pete. I might be an old man with one foot in the grave, son, but if I recall correctly, you’re there to keep an eye on Gareth Church. Not to be street fighting with the other neighbors.”

 

“What do you want me to say? He’s an ignorant, intolerant, close-minded piece of shit. He attacked Rick. I stopped him.” Negan dropped his head, picking at the edges of the super glue surrounding the cut on his knuckle. “He starting banging on the door in the middle of the night looking for him, yelling for Rick to come outside so he could finish what he started earlier. As soon as I opened it— _boom_ ,” Negan balled up his right hand, pounding his fist into the palm of his left. “He didn’t give a flying fuck who I was, he just started swinging. I had no choice, hershel. I had to fight back.”

 

“Yeah,” Hershel sighed, scratching at the long white hairs on the back of his neck. “I’ve dealt with Pete before. A long time ago. I know what kind of man he is.” He reached out, placing a hand on Negan’s shoulder, giving it a gentle, yet authoritative squeeze. “But he never showed up to file a police report. Without that, all I’ve got is a story. And I’m guessing you’ve had your fill of this place, right?”

 

“You have no fucking idea,” Negan laughed, breathing a sigh a relief as he felt a heavy weight lift from his chest, his expression already softer. “Rick’s probably worried sick.”

 

“How _are_ things between you and Rick these days?” Hershel smiled, blinking his eyes at him as he waited for an answer.

 

“We’re okay.” Negan let his eyes swivel toward the door before dropping his gaze back down to his hands. “We… we’re good. We… ” He paused, turning his head toward the darkness of the small window before looking back at Hershel. “Shit,” he whispered, a hint of a smile threatening the corner of his lips. “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

 

***

 

Rick stirred in his sleep, prying his heavy-lidded eyes open to the dark for a moment. _Negan’s home,_ he thought to himself, turning his head toward the window, drifting in and out of wakefulness as he listened to the sound of his footsteps coming up the stairs. _Finally._

 

He was hot, uncomfortable in his own skin. The lack of cool air blowing from the vents told him the power hadn’t come back on yet.

 

“I’m glad you’re home,” he yawned, the rough rustling of denim and the whisper of soft cotton sounding behind him as he came out of his clothes. “Power’s out,” he sleepily informed him. “Been out for a while now.”

 

The mattress dipped beside him, the warmth of his body against him making his temperature spike even higher as he slid in close behind him, throwing an arm around the small of his back. As he felt himself being pulled back toward the deep sleep he’d just come out of, a pair of warm, wet lips pressed against his shoulder.

 

“Mmm,” Rick sighed softly, stretching his legs, loving the way their skin rubbed together when he moved. He shuddered, the touch of dancing fingers sliding over his hips, caressing and massaging the swell of his ass. The welcomed whisper of hot breath ghosting over his back as he peppered his backbone with open-mouthed kisses. He was awake now, and suddenly hyperaware of his own heartbeat, his blood pumping and coursing through his veins with hot desire. “Touch me,” he begged, lifting his hips off of the bed in invitation.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered harshly, his hips bucking involuntarily, grinding into the mattress in response as a long finger slipped between the split of his cheeks, his fingertip brushing over his most sensitive area. “Oh my God.”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” the voice behind him replied before shifting his weight on the bed, the heat of his lips and tongue replacing his fingers.

 

“Aaahhhhh!” Rick screamed at the contact. He was lost, he couldn’t breathe, the struggle for air becoming harder and harder with each and every swipe against his heated flesh. “Oh,” he whimpered as he began to taste him with wild abandon, his tongue slipping inside him, in and out, up and down, circling around his fluttering cavity with incredible skill and know-how.

 

“God, I love you so much.”

 

Rick stilled, his heart now pounding in his ears for a different reason. _He loves me?_ He couldn’t believe his ears. Had he misunderstood? Just as he was about to roll over to respond, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Picking it up, he bolted out of the bed when he saw who the message was from.

 

**Negan: sorry it’s so late. on my way home now.**

 

_Who the fuck was just…_

 

He tapped the flashlight, shining it all over the bedroom. “Negan?” The bed was empty, and there was no one else in sight. A loud beep needled his ears, bringing him back to near total darkness. His phone had powered itself off, the battery completely dead now.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Listening to the sound of his own heart beating, the blood pounding in his ears like thunder, Rick fought to gain control over his labored breathing. With adrenaline burning like wildfire through his veins, he fumbled to open the nightstand drawer, his hand groping blindly in the dark for his gun. 

 

“Get the fuck out of my house!” he shouted, taking small cautious steps toward the bedroom door, his gun aimed into the absolute darkness of the hallway. “Negan’s on his way home right now. He  _ will  _ kill you… if I don’t beat him to it.” He stopped, his throat tightening as he felt a rush of wind move past him.

 

“Baby,” a harsh whisper sounded out, lifting the fine hairs on the back of Rick’s neck. “I only gave you what you asked for.  _ Touch me, _ you said. And that sugary sweet muscle pussy of yours? Mmm.” 

 

Rick’s eyes grew bigger as he became acutely aware of the wet sounds Gareth’s tongue made as he smoothed it back and forth over his lips. 

 

“That tight little squeeze tastes exactly how I imagined it would. Pure heaven, baby. I can’t wait until I finally get to sink inside and—” 

 

“Get out!” 

 

“I can make you feel good.” The floor creaked under his feet as he kept moving, constantly changing his location in the hallway. “We both know it’s true. So let me give you what you really want. What you need.”

 

Rick arched his back, jerking his body away as he felt a cold finger dragging over his skin, tracing the length of his spine. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He swung around, firing his gun through the inky blackness, the air now heavy with the pungent smell of gunpowder and lead.

 

“You were singing a different tune in that bed, sugar. Moaning and groaning for me, pushing your pretty ass against my face. Grinding that hot, needy fuckhole against my tongue like there was no tomorrow. Yes you were.”

 

Feeling his warm breath against the side of his face, Rick swung the butt of his gun back in the same direction, connecting with something hard, hoping like hell it was his skull. “Get out of my house before I put a fucking bullet in your—” He gasped, releasing a sharp, high-pitched wheeze, the wind leaving his lungs as a shoulder slammed into his gut, tossing his unclothed body against the wall like a rag doll, the gun slipping from his grip, hitting the wooden floor with a heavy clunk. He stiffened, holding his breath, bracing his body for another blow, but it never came.

 

“Oh baby,” Gareth growled, wrapping his long fingers tightly around Rick’s throat, panting heavily as he buried his head in the crook of his neck, leaning his naked form dangerously close to his. “ _ You _ are a wild animal. I can see it’s not gonna be easy to tame you, but tame you I most certainly will.” 

 

“Why are you doing this to me?” Rick choked out, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, the suffused light finally allowing him to see the outlines of his face.

 

“Because, I love you.”

 

“No,” Rick argued, hot acidic bile rising up with a gagging rush, lining his throat with the bitter, viscid fluid. “You don’t love me. You can’t. I’m married. You only think—” His stomach clenched as Gareth’s fist whizzed past him, slamming into the wall beside him, narrowly missing his face. 

 

“Don’t tell me how to feel, goddammit! There’s always someone! Always somebody telling me who I can and can’t love! What I should feel and what I shouldn’t!” Gareth paused, inhaling and exhaling deeply, steadying the rhythm of his breathing. “I love you,” he whispered, consciously calming his voice. “I’ve loved you from the minute— _ from the second  _ I first laid eyes on you, Rick. The day you showed up here to look at this house... I just knew you were going to buy it. I knew it. I saw the way you looked at me and I told myself,  _ you and I were going to be neighbors. _ We were going to be friends, lovers. It was meant to be.  _ We  _ were meant to be.”

 

“You’re sick,” Rick hissed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You need help. You can’t force someone to love you. You can’t abuse people, scare them and threaten them into a relationship with you. That’s not how love works.”

 

“I know how it works!” Gareth barked in Rick’s face, grabbing his hand, holding it up by the wrist. “See? Look how your hand trembles when I touch it.” He flattened his palm over his chest. “Your heart, you can’t deny the way it beats twice as hard whenever I’m close to you.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of Rick’s neck, lingering there for a moment, tasting him, kissing him before opening his mouth to speak again. “And I can only imagine,” he breathed against his ear, the hot air sending a fresh wave of panic through his body. “How you would respond if we pressed our bodies together—like  _ this.” _

 

“Please,” Rick cried, the contents of his stomach churning at the feel of Gareth’s naked flesh, his disgusting cock, rigid and leaking, wetting his stomach as he moved against him. “Stop.” His back slid down the wall, his legs buckling underneath him. 

 

“God, you can barely stand.” Wrapping his arm around his waist, Gareth pulled Rick’s weight away from the wall, forcing him to put one foot in front of the other. “Let’s go back to bed. I know exactly what you need.”

 

As he was tugged down the hall, Rick could make out a faint shape on the floor in front of the bathroom. It was his gun. It had to be. He needed to get his hands on it before Gareth did. He knew exactly what he had to do. 

 

With a heavy sigh, he relaxed, leaning against Gareth’s body for support. The small gesture seemed to soften his hold on him, his touch becoming more gentle and forgiving. Swallowing his fear and a great deal of disgust, he wound his arm through his, resting his head on Gareth’s shoulder as he snuggled in closer to his body.

 

“There’s my good boy,” Gareth purred triumphantly, planting a soft kiss on top of his head. _ “See? _ All that fuss you made the other day about nothing. Fighting me tonight. Fighting that special something we got going on between us is just a huge waste of time and—”

 

Before he could finish, Rick reached up, grabbing a handful of Gareth’s hair, pulling it as he kicked his feet out from under him, letting gravity take over. By the time he recovered from the nasty fall, Rick had managed to grab his weapon, locking himself inside the guest bathroom just as Gareth reached the door. Caged in darkness once again, he backed himself up against the counter, cocked his gun, and waited.

 

“Rick?” 

 

He looked down, listening to the rattle of the doorknob as he it turned back and forth, back and forth. 

 

_ “Don’t do this!”  _ Gareth shouted, a clear warning in his tone as he pounded and kicked against the door. “Come on out. I’ll forget all about this if you open the door right now.”

 

Rick kept quiet, keeping his gun trained on the door, ready to fire the second it opened. 

 

“I need you to listen to me, sweetheart. To the  _ real  _ me. I’m sorry. My feelings for you they—they overwhelm me sometimes. They speak for me, act for me. The love I feel for you, it just takes over. I saw you laying there, sleeping so peacefully on that bed... your body, it’s so beautiful, so perfect. I just wanted to be close to you. Please open the door.”

 

Silence.

 

The strength of the hinges and wooden frame were tested repeatedly as a loud thud struck the other side again and again.

 

Rick remained still, listening to Gareth as he panted heavily from his exertion.

 

“Please,” he begged, his voice gentle again as he knocked with one hand, turning the knob again with the other. “Please let me in. Don’t let these people win. Can’t you see? Negan and everyone else, they’re just jealous of what you and I have. They’re  _ trying  _ to keep us apart. I love you so much. Open the door.” There was a short beat of stillness before another jarring thump shook the walls and floor of the dark bathroom. “Open the fucking door!”

 

Then,  _ everything  _ went quiet, but only for a moment or two. Rick’s heart rate picked up again at the sound of heavy footsteps running through the house. Down the stairs, up the stairs. Through the hall to the bedroom and back. He looked down, watching as a sliver of bright light now shone under the bathroom door, moving back and forth.

 

Drawing in a steadying breath, he blew it out as quietly, as calmly as he could, keeping his eyes on the light and the shadow that moved about in the hall before stopping in front of the door. His hands were shaking, but he kept his finger inside the guard, resting it snug against the trigger.

 

As the door busted open with a wood-splintering explosion, the fiery flash from Rick’s pistol illuminated the room—and the face of the man he had shot before he staggered, falling to the floor on his back, his flashlight going out as it bounced on the ground beside him. 

 

“Negan?” Rick fell to his knees, crawling through the dense darkness to get to him. He felt around on the floor for the flashlight, turning it on when he found it. The light flickered once, then went out. “Goddammit.” He shook it, banged it against the hardwood floor. Nothing. “Please!” Desperate, he slapped the head of it against the palm of his hand, pounding it until the light finally came back on. 

 

“Negan?” He was bleeding from his neck, the blood already soaking through the collar of his shirt. “Oh my God. What did I do?”

 

“You fucking shot me.” Negan grunted out a small laugh, wincing in pain as he tried to get up.

 

Rick threw himself on top of him, hugging him, kissing him, covering his bare chest in Negan’s blood in the process. “I thought,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I thought I killed you.”

 

“I thought you had too, babe.” He reached up, hissing as his fingers made contact with the shallow tunnel the bullet made through his skin when it grazed the side of his neck. “Thought you were Gareth. I looked all over for you. Why were you locked in the bathroom? Why is the power out? Where are your clothes? Was he here? Did he fucking get to you?”

 

Rick simply answered all of his questions with a nod, helping him get to his feet. “I don’t know how he got inside, Negan. The doors have all been locked since you left, I swear.”

 

“Come with me,” Negan whispered, taking the flashlight in one hand and Rick’s gun in the other. He shone the light in every corner, behind every door, turning to look behind them every few seconds, finding no one. “Inside our bathroom,” he mouthed, inspecting every square inch before he was satisfied he wasn’t hiding in there. “I want you to lock this door and stay put. Do you hear me? No matter what you hear, stay inside this room until I come back for you.”

 

***

 

Negan worked his way through the house, thoroughly checking under every bed, looking inside every corner of every closet. He checked under every cabinet in the kitchen, even going so far as to looking inside the washer and dryer. When he was certain that the house was clear, he checked all of the windows and latches, tapping each and every pane for any evidence of tampering. But everything checked out fine. He inspected the back door and the front door. All of the locks were secure. Even the security chains were still fastened. How in the hell did he get inside? 

 

The bulb in his flashlight started to flicker again, threatening to go out any minute. While it was still working, he headed to check on the main breaker, hoping to be able to turn the power back on. As he reached to unlock the door to the garage, he stopped, his blood running like ice water through his veins. His mind went back to the day he had helped Gareth with his truck. He never locked it when he came back in. In his haste to throw together that last minute party, he had forgotten all about it. 

 

But how did he get inside the garage? He distinctly remembered closing it when he and Rick went shopping that evening for the party essentials. But wait—he also remembered Rick having to hop out and use the remote in  _ his  _ car to close it, because the one in the overhead compartment of his vehicle, was gone.  

 

He had left Gareth sitting in the Escalade while he ran in to grab his tools.  _ Shit.  _ Reaching up, the pain in his neck feeling as if his flesh was actually on fire, he touched the wound, welcoming that pain instead of complaining about it. He deserved it. That, and a hell of a lot more as far as he was concerned. It was his fault Gareth had gotten in. Hell, he might as well have handed him his very own set of keys. 

 

Opening the metal door to the service panel, he flipped the main breaker on top, restoring power to the entire house in under a second, the whir of the air conditioning coming on almost immediately. He turned around and found himself staring out at the now-lit up driveway. On his way out, Gareth had left the garage door wide open. With his body stiff and his jaw set tight with anger, he disconnected the release handle, slamming the two-car door down manually. Finding the big red button on the housing unit, he held it down for a few seconds, disarming the remote in Rick’s car—and the one he was certain Gareth still had in his possession.

 

Never, in the twenty-eight years he’d been alive on this planet, had he ever wanted to put an end to someone’s life so badly. He wouldn’t need a weapon to do it either. No. He could already imagine the pleasure he would have, feeling the bones of Gareth’s scrawny neck as they crunched and cracked under the force of his bare hands. The beat of his heart slowly fading as he squeezed the life right out of him.

 

Negan looked toward the ceiling, hearing Rick move around upstairs. He knew he needed to check on him, let him know the house was clear now, but he had already been outsmarted by Gareth once, he wasn’t about to let it happen again. He had serviced more than his fair share of burglary calls to know how easy it was for someone get inside a garage by using a simple wire coat hanger. Taking a zip tie out of his toolbox, he threaded it through the holes of the emergency release latch, making it impossible for him to pull it open from the outside.

 

“Rick?” Negan spoke softly, tapping on the door with one knuckle. “Come on out. He’s gone.”

 

Rick opened the door, but he didn’t come out. “I need to take a shower. I-I can still feel him all over me.” He held a folded towel against his crotch, staring down at the floor, ashamed of what he would have to tell Negan. “Could you change the sheets on the bed?” he asked, his bottom lip and chin quivering as he remembered Gareth lying on them beside him. “The comforter, too?” He looked up, meeting Negan’s gaze, his blue eyes brimming with tears. “Burn them.”

 

Negan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he tried several times to swallow. “Can we talk first? I need to know what hap—”

 

“I’ll be out in a bit. Can you change the bed?”

 

Negan nodded as the door closed in his face. 

 

***

 

Stripping the bed from top to bottom, replacing the sheets and comforter with a set from one of the unused beds, Negan stuffed everything inside a lawn and leaf bag, sealing it up and stowing it away inside the linen closet until morning. After taking a quick shower in the other bathroom and patching up the lesion on his neck, he reset the clocks flashing 12:00 on both nightstands.

 

With nothing else to do, he sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed, waiting for Rick to come out. He had been in the shower for nearly forty-five minutes now, and the water was still running. Maybe he should check on him.

 

Opening the bathroom door, a thick cloud of swirling steam billowing out into the hallway, Negan stepped inside, knocking lightly against the wall so he wouldn’t startle him. “You ‘bout finished? The bed’s ready whenever…” Negan watched as Rick scrubbed at his back violently with a soapy washcloth in each hand, the water rinsing off the rich blanket of suds to reveal a reddened, raw and excoriated surface. “What are you doing to yourself, Rick? Your back. Your shoulders. You’re on the fucking verge of drawing blood.”

 

“Help me,” Rick urged, turning around long enough to make certain it was Negan. Adding another heavy bead of body wash to each of the washcloths, he started to scrub the divide between his cheeks with one hand, while the other scoured roughly over the area on his stomach that had been soiled by Gareth’s fluids. “Help me get clean,” he sobbed. “Help me.”

 

But the filth that Rick was feeling, it stained him inside  _ and  _ out. No matter how hard he scrubbed at his skin, the filth that spattered and splattered his insides was that of guilt and shame. He couldn’t wash that away. He couldn’t wish it away. He had asked Gareth to touch him—and he enjoyed it. “Please help me,” he whispered, dropping the soapy rags down by his feet, covering his face with his hands. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was him.”

 

Clothed in a pair of ratty sweats and a tattered old t-shirt, Negan stepped inside the shower with Rick, taking him in his arms, drawing him tightly against the hard muscular wall of his chest. “It's alright,” he soothed, laying a soft kiss at his wet temple. “It’s alright. Just talk to me.”

 

Unable to hold on to the burdensome misery inside him for another second, Rick wound his arms around Negan, holding onto him by the back of his now-soaking wet shirt. Sucking in as much air as his lungs would hold, he released it with a loud and painful cry, weeping hopelessly against his chest. “I was asleep,” he began his confession in a low whisper. “I heard someone come up the stairs and into the bedroom. I’d been waiting to hear from you all evening, but you never called. Then you were finally home. I listened to you get undressed, and I felt you crawl into bed with me.”

 

Negan closed his eyes as he continued, holding onto him a little tighter, pulling him in a little closer with every excruciatingly detailed sentence, already knowing where this story was going. By the time he was finished, every muscle in Negan’s body was drawn up tight, rigid with anger.

 

Rick looked up, feeling every single hard shard of that angered muscle that rested against his upper body, keeping his eyes locked on the one flexing ominously below his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, swallowing against the ball of snot and tears that had gathered in his throat. He looked away just as their gazes met, choosing to stare at the water droplet-covered wall of the shower stall over his hard-as-ice eyes. 

 

Negan’s jaw remained tight, his facial muscles still carved in stone. But his expression softened as he reached behind him, turning off the water. “Let’s you get you out of here and dry you off. You need to get some rest.”

 

Carefully and with the softest towel he could find, Negan blotted Rick’s tender, red skin, quickly rubbing it through his short hair before wrapping it around him. The air conditioning vents, which were working overtime to cool the heated house, blew cold air over his still-damp legs, making him shiver and his teeth chatter. 

 

“Let me go grab you something to sleep in.”

 

Negan ran into the bedroom and opened his closet. Reaching in the very back, he pulled out an unpacked box of clothes, sorting through everything carefully until he found what he was looking for. Unfolding it, he held it up and looked at it, smiling before rocking back on his heels, holding it against his face and inhaling its scent.

 

Rick was still shivering, standing in the same spot when he came back in. “Think this’ll be loose enough?” he asked, offering him a half smile as he held up an old, XXL Nike t-shirt. “I used to be a lot bigger in high school.” 

 

It was white, wrinkled, and sullied with various food stains. It had certainly seen its better days, especially before the silverfish had sought it out, making a meal out of the cotton fibers around the K and the E. He gave it a few good shakes, making sure there was nothing hiding inside, before slipping it over Rick’s head.

 

Opening his towel and letting it fall to the floor, he navigated his arms through the baggy sleeves. The oversized t-shirt swallowed him, hanging tent-like off of his smaller frame, cascading over his legs and coming to rest just above his knees. 

 

Negan stepped back, resting his hands on his hips as he smiled proudly. “It fits you the exact same way it fit Ryan.”

 

Rick looked up, his eyes suddenly wide with a muddled concoction of sorrow and panic. As fast as his water-wrinkled fingers would let him, he began to gather the excess length of the shirt, pulling it up over his hips in an attempt to take it off. “I- _ I can’t.” _

 

“Yes you can,” Negan insisted, gently tugging the worn cotton back down over the lower half of his body. “I want you to… and so would he.”

 

***

 

Negan crawled into bed and pulled Rick in on top of him, cradling him in his arms as he covered them both with the sheet and comforter, smoothing a damp tendril of his unbrushed hair away from his eye. The room was dark and cool, quiet except for the measured sounds of the two of them breathing. 

 

Even after everything that he had went through tonight, being this close to Negan was a comfort to Rick. He had a way of making him feel safe. As he laid there, being rocked by the rhythm of his breathing, his chest rolling him up, rolling him down, it wasn’t long before a wave a peace washed over him. Closing his eyes, he started to relax as it travelled up his body. Within minutes, he went limp. All of his weight, all of his worries, melting away. 

 

“He got in because of  _ me _ .” 

 

Negan’s voice, cracked, weak and pitiful, broke through the silence, startling Rick right back into wakefulness. “Hmm?”

 

“Gareth,” Negan whispered. “It was my fault he got to you tonight. I left the door to the garage unlocked. And I fucking trusted that piece of shit in my truck. He swiped the goddamn garage door opener when I came inside for my tools.” He drew in a ragged breath, trying to hold back his emotions. “I know you will,” he said, rubbing the palm of his hand over the round of Rick’s cotton-covered shoulder. “But I’ll never forgive myself for being so fucking—”

 

“No.” Rick reached up, pressing a finger against Negan’s lips to stop him. “Gareth wanted in. One way or another, he would’ve found a way.” He looked up, dragging his fingernail through the scruff on Negan’s chin. “It’s not your fault. And as much as I thought it was earlier, it’s not mine either.”

 

Negan’s heart squeezed painfully tight, a hard lump forming deep in his throat. “No it’s not,” he whispered, pulling him close, encasing him with all his strength. “It damn near broke my heart hearing you apologize to me after what that bastard did to you.” 

 

He sighed deeply, kissing the top of Rick’s head, his freshly washed hair moving feather-soft against his lips. “I’m fucking proud of you, you know that? In the beginning, I thought there was no way in hell you could do this.” He laughed, shaking Rick’s body in his arms. “Thought you’d tuck your tail between your legs and run the hell out of here on the first day. Now look at us.” He could feel Rick’s lips spread into a smile against his chest. “If someone would’ve told me six months ago, a year, two years ago, that I’d be lying in a bed inside a half million dollar house, falling in love with the one of the biggest pains in my ass, I would have never believed them.”

 

“Wha—” Rick sat up on his elbow, staring at him in the dim light of the digital clocks. “What did you say?”

 

“I said you were a big pain in the ass.”

 

“No!” Rick grabbed the pillow behind him, hitting him in the face with it. “The other thing.”

 

Negan threw his hands up humbly. “Lying in bed inside a half million dollar house?”

  
  
“Negan!” He jumped up on his knees, drawing the pillow back to strike him again. “You know what I’m talking about.”

 

He laughed, pulling him back down against him, tossing the pillow back on the bed. “You always were easy to rile, tiger.” He pulled the covers back up, making sure Rick was warm enough. “I love you.”

 

Rick couldn’t help the slow smile spreading across his face any more than he could the tears welling up in his eyes as he settled against him. “I love you, too.”

  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

Padding around the kitchen in his charcoal gray boxers, Negan put his empty mug back under the drip and hit the brew button, eager for a second dose of caffeine. Reaching for the half-empty bottle of Café Mocha coffee creamer from the door of the fridge, he hummed along to the soft music trickling from the speakers of the under-cabinet mounted radio. The channel playing wasn’t something he would normally listen to—one of those stations  _ famous  _ for exclusively spitting out one cheesy love song after another—but he didn’t seem to mind this time. Those corny, clichéd tunes were exactly what he was in the mood for this morning.

 

He tipped his mug, slurping a mouthful of hot coffee past his lips before flipping his perfectly bubbled pancakes over to cook the other side.

 

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, jerking his hand back reflexively, sucking on the pad of his thumb after making contact with the sizzling hot surface of the griddle. 

 

The aroma of savory bacon and those hot buttermilk pancakes wafting through the kitchen was enough to make him forget all about the insignificant blister forming on his thumb. His belly growled ferociously, the sight alone was making his mouth water uncontrollably. 

 

_ If Rick doesn’t wake up soon _ , he thought to himself, sampling a piece of the crispy-fried bacon piled high on a paper towel-lined plate, he’d be eating breakfast without him.

 

Swiping another strip, he picked his mug up from the kitchen counter and walked over to the back door. The bright morning sun was beaming through the glass as he stretched and groaned, scratching around the edges of the band-aid on his neck while he enjoyed his coffee. He snorted into the cup, blowing steam out around both sides of his mouth as a couple of fat, frisky brown squirrels began to fight over a stale piece of food someone had dropped at the party the other night. “Goddamn,” he laughed, impressed as the smaller rodent managed to tackle the bigger one, rolling them both over the edge of the deck. “Whup his fuzzy little—” 

 

“G’mornin’.”

 

Negan whirled around on his bare feet, his heart melting at the sight of the frowzy, bedraggled man standing there scratching his naked backside, still half-asleep in his old wrinkled tee. His hair was an absolute mess, the longer strands reclaiming their curl during the night as it air dried, and the close-cropped hairs in the back sticking up like the prickly bristles of a hedgehog. 

 

“Good morning to you too,” he smiled, dropping a K-cup into the coffee maker for him. “You sleep okay?”

 

With the heel of his hand, Rick worked the morning crust out of the corner of one eye, nodding his head with a drowsy  _ Mm-hmm _ . “I smelled bacon.”

 

***

 

“Got a couple more pancakes left if you’re still hungry,” Negan offered, folding and twisting a paper napkin while he waited for Rick to finish eating.

 

Rick stretched his arm across the breakfast table, grabbing the last two slices of bacon, running them through the sticky puddle of maple syrup on his plate before stuffing them both into his mouth. “ _ Hmm-mmm _ ,” he mumbled, shaking his head, his mouth too full to tell him his belly couldn’t hold anymore. 

 

“I better get these dishes taken care of.” Negan looked at Rick, winking at him as he handed him a perfect, white paper napkin rose before stacking the sticky plates on top of each other, gathering the flatware and juice glasses in his other hand before heading to the kitchen.

 

The music was still playing softly when Rick rounded the corner. As promised, Negan was busy at the sink, scraping the plates into the trash, rinsing them under the tap before loading them into the dishwasher. 

 

He leaned against the bar, watching him as he moved, noting every flex, every release of each muscle in his back as he turned and leaned. “Thank you for the rose. Where did you learn to do this?”

 

Negan threw his head back with a booming laugh, his back still turned as he worked. “That, sweetheart, was an old flirting technique I used to pick up a piece of ass when I was younger.”

 

Rick chuckled to himself and shook his head, looking down at the wispy petals of his handmade flower. Carefully, he laid it down and walked over to the sink, wrapping his arms around him from behind, swaying against him to the music of an old Boz Scaggs song as he scattered wet kisses along his strong neck and upper back. “The bed isn’t made yet,” he whispered gently, his warm, maple syrup-scented breath falling over his bare shoulder. “We could go back upstairs.”

 

Negan dropped the dirty forks into the silverware basket with a loud jangle. “You still sleepy?”

 

_ “No.” _

 

It was one word, but it was a broken rumble, his voice gruff and raw with an unmistakable lust. Negan turned the water off, reaching for a towel to dry his hands. He turned around, holding him tight with one arm, running his fingers through his messy mop of hair. “Rick,” he whispered. “I know what we started yesterday, but I think maybe we should put the brakes on for a little while after what happened last night. After what Gareth did I don’t want to—”

 

“You’re not him, Negan. You’re not him. I know the difference.”

 

***

 

Negan stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Rick as he settled himself on top of the soft pillows. 

 

Rick stared back at him, his smile reaching his eyes, hinting at those unfairly deep creases and laugh lines of his. Clear and bright and blue, those eyes danced and sparkled with a sanguine hope, their lush frame of dark lashes glittering in the morning sun. Still cloaked in the huge t-shirt, he looked like a Christmas present, just waiting for someone to unwrap him.

 

Pressing one knee into the mattress, Negan crawled toward him, hovering over him, parting his legs with the width of his body. “You sure you're okay?” he asked, lowering himself down gently. 

 

Heat curled low in Rick’s belly at the husky tone of his voice, his eyes tracing the sharp lines of his dark, wickedly-handsome features. “I’m okay, Negan. I’m  _ more  _ than okay.” He lifted his hips, grinding the stiffness of his cotton-covered arousal between their stomachs, the fabric so thin and worn, he was sure Negan could feel its heat, the blood pulsing through its veins. 

 

“God- _ damn _ ,” Negan swore under his breath, brushing those wild, misbehaving curls out of his eye, taking his face between his hands as he rested his weight on his elbows. I—I never thought I’d feel this way again. Never thought I’d fall in love with someone else.”

 

Rick smiled and averted his eyes, lowering his lashes in a fleeting moment of bashfulness. He slipped his hands around the back of his neck, letting his fingers gambol through the ends of his silky black mane. “Well it took you long enough.”

 

“Yeah,” Negan nodded as he puckered his bottom lip against the top one, shrugging his shoulders defensively. “But I’m here  _ now _ .”

 

Rick could feel the current of love flowing through his veins, his heart fluttering and flittering like a caged bird against his ribs. “Show me,” he whispered hoarsely, his fingers tightening their grip in his hair with a will of their own, pulling him closer. 

 

Negan curled one knuckle, brushing it against his cheek as he kissed his forehead, his eyes, his nose—his name a course whisper on his lips as they found his with a fire so hot, so intense, he melted against him. 

 

A hunger flared inside him as Rick opened up to him, trusting him, letting his tongue explore, searching him, devouring him in a long, passionate kiss. His hands moved down, working to remove the sparse layers of clothing between them, bare flesh meeting bare flesh, damn near sending both of them over the brink.

 

Rick closed his eyes, bright spots flickering, intense bursts of desire exploding behind his eyelids as Negan nibbled away on his lower lip, moving over the sharp edge of his stubbled jaw, mapping out each and every sensitive spot on his neck, licking him, biting him from his ear to his shoulder in a delicious, hungry trail. He groaned and he growled, sinking his fingernails into the flesh of Negan’s backside, pushing him, guiding him as he moved his hot cock against his in long, heated strokes. “Please don’t make me wait anymore,” he begged. “I can’t take it. Fuck me.”

 

Negan kissed him once more, rolling off of him long enough to grab the small bottle from his nightstand. When he rolled back over, Rick had moved his head to the foot of the bed, his legs spread wide, presenting everything to him as he stroked his shaft with one hand, rolling his heavy balls between the fingers of the other.

 

Negan slicked himself well, smoothing a liberal amount over Rick’s opening with his glossy forefinger before watching it slowly disappear inside him. 

 

“Fuuuck,” Rick cried out with a wavering moan, his eyes like two blue flames, burning with want and need as he watched his finger move in and out of him, adding another long shiny digit to his body, working him open with deep fluid-like strokes. With his breath coming out in heavy pants—his skin rippling over contracting muscles, his legs spreading even wider as his pleasure built—he lifted his hips, silently pleading for more. 

 

Negan withdrew his fingers, forcing an involuntary whimper out of Rick. He settled between his legs, resting the head of his cock at his entrance. He dipped inside him for a moment before pulling back out, more of a test rather than a tease, making sure he was okay to continue.

 

“I’m fine, Negan. I promise.”

 

That was all he needed to hear. 

 

With a shift of his hips, he eased into him, stretching him, filling him completely until he thought his lower half would crack wide open.  _ One, two, three, four...  _ Rick counted in his head, counting down the seconds before the burning pain faded, giving way to pure ecstasy as Negan started to move. Slowly, softly, he rocked in and out of him, his thrusts gradually becoming stronger and stronger, each pulse of pleasure building on the one before it, drawing every nerve, every muscle in his body taut with desire. 

 

With a hand on either side of his head, Negan drove his body into his, staring down at him, watching Rick as Rick watched him. His loud cries of pleasure only making him work that much harder. 

 

Rick wrapped his legs around him, his fingers raking wildy along his back, driving him deeper, harder, faster. “Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed between his teeth, his hips lifting to slam into his every thrust. “Fuuuuck!” he screamed, clawing into Negan’s flesh as he hit the nerve center inside him, stroking it over and over again, fucking into him so hard he drove him over the edge of the bed. Helpless, he reached for his hands, clasping their fingers together as he held on, his head hanging upside down as the slapping of skin on skin smacked loudly in the silence of the early morning. “I’m so close,” he whimpered, locking his ankles around his ass, driving him in and out, faster and harder. 

 

“I’m right there with you, baby.”

 

Rick saw stars, a pyrotechnic show erupting behind his eyelids as everything inside him exploded. His climax flowed through him, washing over him like a tidal wave of release as he came between their sweat-soaked bodies.

 

“Ah, fuck!” Negan growled, his entire body tightening like a bow string as he let himself go, coating Rick's seizing walls with his warm completion. “God, I love you.”

 

***

 

“I love you too,” Rick whispered as he lay in a boneless heap on top of Negan, his finger running lazy circles around the dark fuzz on his nipple, the tingles and vibrations of their third round of lovemaking still coursing through his body. He lifted his sleepy eyes, stealing a glance at the clock. It was already five minutes past noon. “Let’s stay here in bed all day,” he suggested, rolling his head lazily, kissing his stomach with a smile. “Let’s just stay here for the rest of our lives, just like this.”

 

Negan smiled, feeling Rick's eyelashes fan his skin as his drowsy eyes opened and closed intermittently, his fingernails dragging up and down the length of his spine sending him quickly toward slumber. “It'd sure beat the hell out of going to work everyday, wouldn't it?”

 

Rick answered him with a loud snore against the skin of his abdomen. But his much-needed, well-earned nap didn’t last long. He startled in Negan’s arms as the bell to the back door rang downstairs. “Who the hell is that?” he grumbled, finding the strength to stretch his arms and legs. 

 

The doorbell chimed again, but this time it was relentless as whoever it was had decided to push the button repeatedly. 

 

“Shit,” Negan threw the sheet off of them, sliding out from under Rick's warm body with a heavy sigh. “It better be fucking life or death.” He slipped his robe over his shoulders, dropping his gun in its front pocket before tying the belt. Tossing Rick's robe over his legs, he waited by the door. 

 

They could see both Shane and Lori trying to pry Judith's finger off of the still-ringing doorbell when they reached the bottom of the stairs, entering the kitchen. 

 

Negan jerked the door open in feigned agitation and scooped the little girl up in his arms. “What are you doing, troublemaker?”

 

Judith giggled, snaking her arms around his neck. “It’s my birthday!”

 

“Happy birthday,” Rick offered, patting her back through her long hair and blue jean jacket. 

 

“I’m six!” she shrieked, climbing over Negan’s shoulder and jumping into Rick’s arms, giving him an equally tight squeeze. The unexpected gesture of affection toward him both shocked him... and warmed his heart. “Will you come to my circus party? I’m gonna have a clown and everything!”

 

Rick looked to Negan and Negan looked to Shane. “Is the entire neighborhood going to be there or… ?” He didn’t want to mention anyone’s name specifically, if he could help it.

 

“Jesse’s bringing Sam,” he answered, crossing his thick, muscular arms across the wide expanse of chest as he leaned against the door frame. “I think Pete headed out of town on business. The Monroe’s are away on vacation and, uh, Gareth’s off helping his mom do something. Everybody else has already RSVP’d, man.”

 

“You gotta come!” Judith begged, shaking herself in Rick’s arms, her little diamond-shaped face wreathed in smiles and her eyes overflowing with hope.

 

Rick smiled back at her as he felt his heart completely melt into a great big pile of sticky goo, coating the insides of his chest cavity with warmth. “We wouldn’t miss your sixth birthday for the world, sweetheart.”

 

***

 

They could hear the rapid fire tempo of trumpets, trombones and tubas as soon as they opened their door. “Sounds like they’re going all out for this circus party,” he noted, adjusting his end of the enormous gift wrapped box they were carrying. 

 

Negan shook his head and chuckled.

 

“What?” Rick asked defensively, put extra bite on the  _ T  _ as he narrowed his eyes.

 

_ “They _ went all out? What the fuck do you call this?” he asked, gesturing toward the box they were struggling to carry without ripping the red and white striped paper that mimicked one of the Big Top Circus tents.

 

He fish-mouthed a couple of times, trying to come up with an answer. 

 

“Uh huh,” Negan smirked, throwing him a knowing look. “Little girl hugs you one time, and she’s got you wrapped tighter than a goddamn airport sandwich.”

 

Rick laughed, dropping his eyes to the ground in guilt as they reached the party. But it wasn’t just a party, it was a full blown circus. The entire expanse of Shane and Lori’s front yard, driveway and part of the street was completely shrouded under a tent. There were jugglers, acrobats and stilt walkers. They even had a sword swallower. 

 

They could hear Judith’s squeals of excitement before they even saw her. “Negan! Rick!” 

 

“Hey there, birthday girl!” Negan spotted a table loaded with gifts, deciding to put theirs down in the grass next to it because of its size. 

 

“What’s in that big box?” she asked, ogling enthusiastically as she wrapped herself around one of Rick's legs, looking up at him with those big brown, please-tell-me-what’s-in-the-box eyes. 

 

“It's a u—” 

 

“You’ll find out what’s in there soon enough,” Negan interrupted, shooing her away from the gifts. He looked to Rick. “Damn,” he laughed, watching Judith as she skipped her way toward the candy ferris wheel to load up on more sugar. “That little girl really knows how to butter your ass up, doesn’t she?”

 

Rick didn’t laugh. He didn’t answer him. He just stood there, his mouth open and his hands shoved into his back pockets—looking up, looking down, left and right—trying to take it all in at once. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. It not only looked and sounded like the circus… it  _ smelled  _ like the circus, too. The popcorn machines were popping up hot buttery bags of yellow kernels. The rotisserie was spinning, rotating rows of juicy hot dogs as they cooked. And the cotton candy machines whirred, spinning out cloud after cloud of pink and blue fluff.

 

His attention was pulled away from the food as a clown—the clown Judith had been so excited about earlier—was running back and forth with Shane, entertaining the partygoers by chasing each other around with galvanized buckets of water. He watched the commotion and listened to the shrieks, hypnotized with an unconscious smile on his face as Lori got caught up in the middle of their pursuit.

 

“I have a baby!” she giggled, doing her best to outrun her husband and the clown chasing after him. Seeing an opportunity, she darted in between the gap of Negan and Rick, getting herself and the baby out of the way.

 

Shane stopped in front of her. The masked clown approached him, silently promising to throw  the water at  _ him...  _ and everyone standing behind him. But he stopped, zeroing in on Rick instead. He pulled a fake flower out of his pocket, putting in Rick’s hand with care. Everyone laughed when the stem of the flower bent in half. The clown took the flower back, straightening it, returning it to Rick’s hand again. Same thing. The flower drooped in his grip. 

 

The clown touched the corner of the mouth painted on his plastic mask and held his finger up, suggesting to the crowd that he had an idea. He gestured to the bucket in his hand, then pointed to the flower, hinting that it probably just needed a little water. Rick shook his head, half laughing, half fearful, as the clown drew his bucket back, tossing the contents in his face before he could protest any further. The crowd shouted and cheered, roaring in laughter as Rick stood confused... covered in confetti. 

 

***

 

Raising a giant soft pretzel to his lips, Rick took another tentative nibble, grazing on the rocks of crunchy salt that coated its smooth surface while he waited for Negan to get back from the portable toilet. Hearing the excitement from a couple dozen laughing kids, he stopped, watching as the confetti-throwing clown entertained them by making balloon animals. 

 

The sound of latex squeaking and popping could be heard over the collective voice of the small crowd as the clown quickly twisted the long skinny balloons with expertise. When he was finished, he had made a big red crab that he carefully handed to Sam. 

 

“Me next!” Judith shouted, raising her hand high in the air, waving it for good measure. “Can you make me a unicorn?”

 

The clown tapped his temple with the tip of his pointer finger, thinking for a moment before he reached into his bag and pulled out a couple of pre-filled balloons—one white, one pink. He got to work, twisting and tying and bubbling the balloons together, pinching the end of the pink one, letting the air out to magically form the horn. 

 

Amazed, Rick held his pretzel between his teeth, clapping along with the kids as Judith accepted her unicorn. 

 

_ Where is Negan?  _ he wondered as he walked in the direction he saw him last. Maybe he stopped to get a snow cone or something. Maybe he went back for another glass of that punch he seemed to like so well. Maybe he—

 

Rick’s pretzel hit the ground as someone unseen reached out, grabbing him by the shirt, yanking him behind the fountain drink station. A hand covered his mouth, preventing him from calling out for help. 

 

“I missed you.” 

 

The words were hissed straight into his ear, lips so close that they brushed his skin, sending shock waves to stiffen each and every fine hair on his body. As panic set in, he tried to scream and started to fight, his heart damn near bursting out of his chest. The hands holding him spun him around.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s me, Rick. It’s  _ me.” _

 

“Get off of me! Let me go!” Rick was still struggling, still trying to push him off. Punching and kicking. Whatever he had to do to get away. 

 

“Rick!” 

 

He looked up, crying as he was met with Negan’s familiar eyes... instead of the ones he was expecting to see.

 

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, baby. It’s alright.” Negan pulled him against him, feeling how hard he trembled in his arms. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. God, I’m a fucking idiot.” 

 

He held on to him, waiting for him to stop shaking. Waiting for his breathing to return to normal. “Are you okay?” He felt him nod against his chest, still twisting his shirt in his fists. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I just… I was just trying to…”

 

“Can I have your attention?” A masculine voice rang out through a megaphone along with a high-pitched, ear-splitting whine of feedback. “The birthday girl will be opening gifts in five minutes.”

 

Negan looked down at Rick, brushing his thumbs over the wet streaks on his cheeks, those streaks only adding to the guilt he felt. “You wanna go home?”

 

Rick took a deep cleansing breath in through his nose, blowing it out slowly through pursed lips. “No,” he shook his head, roughly dragging the heels of his hands over his face to dry it. “I guess I—I guess maybe I overreacted a little. I thought you were— I’m alright,” he nodded, mentally trying to convince himself. “I’m alright. Let’s go watch Judy open her gifts.”

 

Judith was already on her third gift by the time they reached the crowd. They found an open spot in the semi-circle that had formed around her, watching as she threw paper, bows and ribbon in every direction as she tore into one package after another.

 

Negan watched Rick as he watched her dig into another one. His smile—the one that had been present all day long, through breakfast, after making love, shopping for Judith’s birthday, making love again in the shower, enjoying himself at the circus—it just wasn’t there anymore.  _ Why did you do that?  _ he asked himself. After everything’s he’s been through.  _ What the hell were you thinking?  _

 

He knew what he was thinking at the time. He wanted to surprise him with a kiss. Two minutes alone, that was all he wanted. 

 

“Can I open the big one now, daddy?” Judith’s voice jerked him out of his guilty thoughts.

 

Shane had to have help moving it out in front of her. “Says it’s from Rick and Negan.”

 

Judith’s eyes lit up as she ripped the first strip of paper off. Rick chewed nervously on his fingernails, anxious to see whether she would like it or not. He got his answer in the form a long, loud, piercing scream. He looked to Negan. His smile had returned, but it wasn’t as big. It wasn’t anywhere near as bright as it was before. 

 

“It’s a unicorn! A unicorn that I can ride!” She ran over to where they were standing, giving them both the biggest hug.

 

***

 

All the gifts had been opened and the cake had been served. Judith had ridden her unicorn up and down the street as the tent came down, and the circus was packed back into the trucks. Lori finally convinced her to go inside and take a nap with her baby brother. 

 

Sam walked home to play video games with Ron, and all of the other guests were long gone… leaving behind a mountain of trash that would take Shane and Lori at least two days to clean up by themselves. Having pity on them, Rick, Negan and Jesse agreed to stay behind and help them clean up. 

 

“Are we out of trash bags?” Shane asked Lori, holding up the empty box, the ground still covered in wrapping paper and food containers. 

 

“We’ve got plenty at our house,” Negan offered. “I’ll run and get some.”

 

Rick was stuffing trash into the big box the unicorn came in when Shane came back out holding a tray with five cups of punch. “That damn clown,” he laughed, holding the tray out for everyone to take a cup. “I paid that bastard five-hundred dollars and all he gave me was the leftover punch. Howd’ya like that?”

 

Rick was thirsty. He hadn’t had much to drink all day. Everyone else must have been as thirsty as he was. All four of them downed the cold red drink in one gulp, tossing their dirty cups into the box, leaving Negan’s sitting on the tray as they got back to work.

 

Negan finally came back with a new box of trash bags. “Where the hell did everybody go?” He dropped the box when he spotted Lori and Shane. They were both passed out in the driveway. “Shane? Lori!” Neither of them responded. Jesse was doubled over on the picnic table. She wouldn’t wake up either. 

 

_ Rick. Where was Rick? _

 

“Rick!” Negan’s voice echoed through the empty street. “Rick! Where the hell are you? Oh, Jesus. Where are y—” he stopped, running over to the edge of the road when he spotted a pair of sneakers sticking out from behind a bush. “Rick!”

 

He was lying face down. “Baby! Please wake up!” He rolled him over on his back. There was blood pouring from a gash above his eyebrow where he had struck his head on the cement curb. “Help me!” he screamed, looking up and down the street. “Goddammit! Somebody fucking help me!” 

 

He was straining, struggling to pick up his dead weight, trying to get him some help when he felt a sharp sting hit his neck. He reached up, pulling a needle and empty syringe out with his hand. He looked down at the ground beside him, and saw a pair of big red shoes. As he fell—the backyard quickly becoming the sky—the last thing he saw was the masked clown from the party before his world went dark. 


	17. Chapter 17

“Rick.” The sound of his own name echoed hollowly in his ears. It was a whisper, frantic, panicked. It grew louder, pleading with him, damn near desperate.  _ “Rick!” _ There was a breeze, blowing over his skin like breath, passing through his hair like fingers. Something was touching his face, his shoulders, shaking him. He opened his eyes to a blurry fog, rolling back to nothing but the whites as they closed again, the weight of his head lulling to one side.

 

“No, no, no.” A series of sharp stings landed against the side of his face, a slapping that continued until his eyes fluttered back open, a weak groan struggling to escape his lungs. “Stay awake, honey. Stay with me.” 

 

His body felt strange, like he was drifting off, floating away on water. His arms were heavy, his legs useless. He looked up, everything was still in a haze, just a gray, faceless shadow moving back and forth in a glow of yellow light, talking to him, shouting at him, slapping him in the face. He managed to wiggle his fingers, recognizing the short, sharp blades of grass underneath him. He was on the ground.

 

After a few minutes passed, then a few minutes more, he started to wake up, started to regain some of his muscle control, some of his cognisance, able now to identify the moving, talking shadow above him. It was Jessie. He looked around, the yellow light was coming from the street lights above. It was dark outside.

 

“What happened?” he asked, his words slurring as he lifted his head and shoulders off the ground in an attempt to sit up, making the dark, star-studded sky above him spin, his head pounding with a violent headache. He raised his arm, slowly and sluggishly, reaching for the area the sharp pain was coming from.

 

“Don’t do that,” Jessie urged, pulling his arm back down before his fingers made contact with the wide open split on his forehead, streaks of blood, like lightning bolts, drying on his cheek, in his hair. “Just relax and be still. I’m gonna call an ambulance. You hit your head pretty hard.”

 

He could hear a baby crying, screaming, his breath hitching like he’d been crying a while. He looked to his right. Shane and Lori could be seen through their living room window, trying to calm their children, trying to comfort each other. He knew something was seriously wrong.

 

“Shane thinks someone slipped something in the punch, knocked all four of us out. You got the worst of it when your head bounced off of that concrete. We’ve been out here several hours. Poor Shawn and Judy. They’ve been without their mommy for…”

 

_ Several hours?  _ Rick didn’t hear the rest of her words. 

 

Forcing his muscles to work, he grunted and groaned in agony as he rolled himself over on his side, the world moving dizzily around him, whirling, shifting and spinning. The panic in his gut warred with a vague nausea, the roiling contents of his stomach rising, spilling all over the grass in front of him. “Where’s Negan?” he asked hoarsely, spitting the bitter remnants out of his mouth. “Where is he?” Gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain and dizziness, he pushed himself to his knees.

 

“I don’t know where he is, honey.” Jessie wrapped her arms around him, supporting as much of his weight as she could as he stumbled up, staggering to his feet. His head throbbing with every unsteady step he took. “Let me call an ambulance, Rick. You’re in no condition to—”

 

“I’m okay,” he lied, pushing and shoving her hands away from him as he reeled and swayed drunkenly. “I’ll be okay. Just—” He stumbled over, catching himself by grabbing the top of the picnic table. “Just go to your boys. I’ll be fine.”

 

Using the vehicles parked in the driveways between their houses for stability, he made it home. “Negan!” He was so lightheaded he could barely focus to get the door unlocked. Pushing it open, he swayed in the doorway of the dark house, digging his fingernails into the jamb to support the unsteady burden on his legs. “Negan!”  _ He’s probably upstairs, _ he convinced himself, the fear of that not being the case sinking in, spearing like knives into his bones. 

 

Stumbling forward, he fumbled around until he found the table lamp, knocking it over as he turned it on, illuminating the empty house in an eerie light. After getting his right foot up on the first step, lifting his left for the next, he stopped, falling down to one knee. “Jesus,” he breathed, his ears ringing, throwing him off even more as his vision started to cloud again. He sank down, resting his head against the balusters of the banister, the gray mist turning to solid darkness once again.

 

***

 

The sound of morning birds chirping replaced the ringing in Rick’s ears, but the pain in his head was still there. As he stirred awake, the soreness and stiffness in his neck and upper back made itself known, the bilious taste and smell of vomit still lingering on his breath, his tongue. 

 

Sitting there, still slumped against the banister, he felt a sudden chill of dread and terror pass through him. Memories, bits and pieces of last night were trickling in, building, defining, reminding him  _ why  _ he was sitting on the stairs.

 

“Negan?” he called out, pulling himself up using the handrails, a motion that sent an invisible freight train tunneling straight through the front of his skull. Just as he got to his feet, turning around to climb the stairs, his phone jingled in his pocket, alerting him to an incoming FaceTime call. He sighed, a wave of relief washing over him when he saw who it was from.

 

But that feeling of solace was short-lived as the image of Negan appeared on his screen. His chest was strapped to a chair, his wrists bound in front of him with a rope, his ankles secured to the front legs. The muscles at the base of his neck tightened and hollowed as he struggled to get enough air around the thick layer of duct tape that covered his mouth. There was a crusty trail of dried blood dripping from his nose, running down over the silver makeshift muzzle, his shirt stained with splatters of crimson and torn at the collar. His eyes were covered with a black blindfold, the rest of his face covered in bruises. 

 

“Negan,” Rick’s lips moved, but no sound escaped, his throat, his body paralysed in fear. “Negan,” he tried again, a raspy sound finally reaching the air. “Can you hear me?”

 

He nodded, fighting against the restraints that tethered him to the chair.

 

As the battered and bloody image disappeared, a panoramic blur of an unrecognizable room careened by, Gareth’s face soon filling the screen. “Hey, sweetheart,” he smiled, waggling his fingers to say hello. “Didn’t mean to rough him up so bad,” he shrugged, looking back at him over his shoulder. “But he just didn’t want to follow the rules. But now that  _ he’s  _ caught up to speed… what about you? You don’t wanna see him hurt anymore, do you?”

 

Tears spilled from Rick’s eyes as he shook his head. “No.”

 

“Now how did I know you were gonna say that?” Gareth chuckled, well aware of the shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “You know what to do. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

 

“Wait!” Rick choked out, gasping for air as his throat continued to tighten. “Please wait. Let me—let me talk to him. Just for a minute.”

 

Gareth grew quiet, hesitating a moment as he chewed on the inside of his lower lip. “Why is it so hard to say no to you?” he teased, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his nose before turning the phone back around. Negan held his head up, pricking his ears as he waited for Rick to speak.

 

“I’m gonna help you, Negan. I’m gonna do whatever it takes to save you.” Rick’s heart broke as he listened to the muffled cries coming from behind the silver strip over his lips. “Take that fucking tape off of his mouth,” he cried. “For God’s sake just let him talk to me.  _ Please, _ ” he begged, adding an extra dose of suffering to the last word, counting on Gareth’s strong desire to accommodate him.

 

The screen shook and the image shuddered with a series of jerky movements as Gareth’s hand came into view, pulling and tugging at the corner of the duct tape, lifting it, peeling it back just enough to reveal a pair of swollen, blood crusted lips.

 

“Don’t come over here!” 

 

Gareth moved quickly to put the silencer back in place, muffling the rest of Negan’s words as he covered his mouth. “Stay away from him, Rick!” he managed to mumble coherently before the phone hit the floor, bouncing on an area of beige carpeting, landing face up to display nothing but a view of the off-white ceiling above. Rick sobbed, listening helplessly to the barrage of blows being absorbed. and the smothered, hoarse screams of agony that accompanied them before the call was ended. 

 

***

 

Rick stood on Gareth’s front porch, his loaded pistol concealed behind his back. He was ready. Ready to fire as soon as the door was opened, putting an end to Gareth, an end to this hellish nightmare before anyone else got hurt. Fuck bringing him in alive. Fuck this case altogether. He was done. 

 

As he knocked again, leaning down to peer through a small gap in the blinds that covered one of the narrow windows beside the door, his could feel his gun being yanked from his grip. The second he turned around to fight, his vision darkened as the heavy butt of the pistol met with the side of his head. He groaned as his feet slid out from under him. Before he hit the ground he was— 

 

He was somewhere else, somewhere cold when he woke up. Somewhere damp and stale. His face, his naked body was pressed against the cracked and dirty tiles beneath him, a staggering far away voice echoing in his ears. And the smell. Oh God, he couldn’t handle the smell. His stomach roiled, churning violently as the rotting stench filled his nostrils. 

 

He tried to lift his head, trying to determine his whereabouts, but his skull was throbbing with every heartbeat. His vision swam red and black, going in and out with every clanging pulse of white-hot pain. If the first blow hadn’t fractured his skull, he was certain this one had. 

 

“No!”

 

He flinched at the unexpected voice as it bounced off of the concrete surroundings, the sound of something heavy clattering, scattering over a metal surface ringing in his ears. Panic-stricken, he tried to sit up, desperate to protect his head from another damaging blow, but he couldn’t move, his feet were bound together, his hands tied behind him. Rolling himself over onto his back, he scrambled to a sitting position, scooting across the floor and plastering himself to the corner of the mold-covered, cobweb infested wall.

 

“Not  _ him _ ! I said I didn’t want him hurt! _ ”  _ It was Gareth doing the shouting, he was angry, furious at someone, but there was no one else around. “What do you mean you weren’t trying to hurt him? You were going to rape him!” As Rick let go of an inescapable whimper, he whipped his head around. “Hey, sugar.” His voice was soft, gentle now, there was a smile curling his lips. Not the crazy, maniacal smile he was expecting, but one of those subtle, lambent smiles. “How are you feeling?” Walking over, he knelt down in front of him, his hands between his legs while he waited for an answer. When no answer came, he reached behind him, slowly pulling the long dagger out of his belt. 

 

Rick pushed himself further into the corner, trying desperately to swallow against the mountain of cotton in his mouth. “Head,” he croaked, forcing the word past his painfully dry throat. “Hurts.”

 

“Hmm,” Gareth cocked his head, carefully running a finger over the cut above his eyebrow. But just like that, the look in his eyes grew dark, his soft expression hardening into something more menacing as he kept his finger moving, dragging his snaggy nail roughly over his temple, his cheek and his jaw, leaving a white jagged line that pinked as his blood surfaced to the damaged skin.

 

Rick fought to free his hands from the tight rope that bound them together.

 

As if he were following directions on a map, Gareth continued down the span of his neck, digging over the bony protrusion of his collarbone before trawling over his chest. He moved lower, his punishing fingernail sketching and scratching its way down the long stretch of trembling stomach muscles, stopping, poking and prodding at the upper edge of his naked thigh as he grinned. He eyed him hungrily, his gaze sweeping over the vulnerable, flaccid flesh resting on his lap.

 

He gasped when Gareth stood, suddenly taking hold of the rope circling his ankles, jerking his legs and hips up off of the ground, leaving him no choice but to fall back on his bound wrists. Following the blade of the dagger, he sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, steeling himself for the worst, every muscle in his body wound tight, just waiting to uncoil. 

 

He listened to the razor-edged steel as it sliced through something with a faint singing sound, but instead of feeling the sharp burn of the dagger ripping through his body, all he felt was gravity, the weight of his lower half meeting the concrete floor with a dull smack. Opening his eyes, he looked down, his legs no longer tied together. Confused, he looked back up, meeting Gareth’s cold, green eyes.

 

“He was only playing with you,” he laughed, carefully untangling the cut rope from his ankles. “He gets turned on when you’re scared or upset. But don’t worry,” he whispered, wiggling one of his toes playfully. “I wouldn’t let him hurt you for anything. I’m stronger than he is.” Getting a firm grip under one of his arms, he helped Rick get to his feet. “Let’s take care of that nasty cut, doll.”

 

***

 

Rick eyed the cold bottle of water that Gareth sat down on the table in front of him—his dry mouth infused with the rancid taste of old blood and vomit—but he was too afraid to ask him for a drink. With his hands still tied behind him, he sat anxiously in a rickety old chair, listening to the wafer thin slices of worn out wood pop and crack underneath him as Gareth shuffled through the contents of a shoebox full of first-aid supplies. Fishing a bottle of iodine out of the box, he held it up to the light, shaking the contents inside the dark bottle before looking down at the fearful blue eyes that were glued to his every move. 

 

Quickly, Rick let his gaze drop, concentrating on a nearby shelf, a framed collage of old photographs holding his attention for a moment. 

 

Most of the pictures were of two young boys, probably around five and seven years old. One of them, the taller, skinnier of the two, _ that had to be Gareth, _ he thought. The other boy he presumed to be the brother Gareth had spoken about in the woods, the one who had died.

 

They were both dressed in dirty, wrinkled hand-me-downs, their faces unwashed, their hair unbrushed. And their eyes, there was something incredibly sad behind them, something scared. Their expressions were lost somewhere between hopeless and helpless. In a few of the pictures, the boys were standing in front of a woman. She had gelid blue eyes—her stringy, unkempt auburn hair spilling over both shoulders.  

 

Gareth scattered several half-empty pill bottles over the metal surface of the table, looking hard at the prescription labels as he mumbled something incoherently under his breath. Pushing one of the childproof caps against the meat of his palm, working it until it popped open, he shook a single pink pill into his hand. “This will make your head feel better,” he promised, adding a little blue pill from one of the other bottles, a yellow one from another. He pushed one of his fingers into his hand, chasing the pills around with his dirty fingernail. “And I’ve got a little something to help you relax. Something to take the edge off… just until you get used to the idea of being here.” 

 

Rick was already shaking his head. “M-my head isn’t hurting anymore,” he lied, his voice broken, his throat raw. “I don’t need anything but a sip of water. I don’t mind being here,” he lied again, meeting his eyes with a strained smile on his face, hoping it was enough to convince him not to drug him again.

 

Gareth seemed unmoved at first, popping the yellow pill into his own mouth, swallowing it down dry, never taking his eyes off of him. But, as he began to rock and sway, his body shaking with rage and his expression changing again, Rick held his breath, bracing himself as best as he could against the chair. 

 

“How  _ touching _ ,” he spat, using his foot to shove the edge of the metal table against Rick’s chest without warning, sliding him and the chair back into the wall, pinning his arms between the splintery wood and the unyielding concrete. “I don’t mind being here,” he mocked, his voice, his tone blood-curdling, unlike anything he’d heard him use before.  _ “Thall shalt not lie!” _ he shouted, punctuating every word by pounding his fist into his palm as he paced the floor in front of the table. _ “Thall shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor!” _

 

He lunged forward, grabbing Rick by the face, squeezing his cheeks together, forcing the other two pills past his tightly puckered lips. “You want water?” he asked, seething as he reached behind him, grabbing the overturned bottle of water, pouring what was left of it down Rick’s throat, the bitter pills washing down with it. “I’ll give you water, boy.”

 

As the panic overwhelmed him, he couldn’t hold his breath, the liquid continuing to flow over his tongue. With one sharp gasp, the cold water rushed into his lungs. When the last few drops finally emptied into his mouth, he swallowed it, chasing it with a chestful of air. He coughed and gagged, nearly vomiting as jets of the inhaled water shot out of his lungs.

 

Gareth continued to hold Rick’s face between his fingers, but he felt his grip suddenly slacken, his hand turning cold. The empty water bottle hit the floor, bouncing around on the tiles before rolling under the table. Slowly, he began to back away from him, staring up at the ceiling through a veil of tears in his eyes. Those eyes, he swore it was like looking at the same pair of haunting green eyes he had seen in all of his childhood pictures.

 

“No!” Gareth cried, slapping his hands over his ears, his voice that of a child—a terrified little boy. “Don’t do it! Please! It hurts!” He turned around, trying his best to run, but he stumbled, falling hard to the concrete floor. Instinctively, he curled his body into a tight fetal position, covering his head with his hands and his arms. “Please!” he begged. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

 

Still pinned against the wall with the weight of the heavy table, Rick stared at the scene unfolding in front of him in disbelief, involuntary sobs wracking Gareth’s body. 

 

Using the strength of his chest, he pushed the table away from him, careful to make as little noise as possible. When he thought he had enough room, he rocked his body forward, lifting his arms over the back of the chair as he stood up, cringing, fearing for his life every time the wood cracked. With slow, charry steps, he tiptoed his way past the hysterical horror show in the floor, making it to the double doors.  _ Please, please, please,  _ he thought to himself, turning around, pushing up on his toes as he frantically gripped one of the doorknobs behind him, turning it, twisting it, but his fingers only slid around it.  _ Shit. _ It was locked. 

 

As he moved over to the other door, getting his hand wrapped around the knob, Gareth looked up at him, jumping up on his hands and knees. “Rick.  _ Rick!”  _

 

Holding his breath, he gave it a turn. It was unlocked. He only got the door open a couple of inches before it was slammed shut again. His heart stopped as Gareth dropped down in front of him, wrapping his arms around his legs. 

 

“You have to help me,” he cried, clinging to him like a frightened child, his tears and snot wetting his bare legs. “They’re stronger. They’re so much stronger in this room.”

 

“Who?” Rick asked, the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.

 

“The voices,” he whispered. “I know you hear them. One of them wants to hurt you, Rick. He wants to do things to you and I don’t know of I can stop him.” He lifted his head, but his wet eyes remained closed. “And one of them wants you dead.”

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

The powder white curtains billowed in the half-open bedroom windows, rain pattering softly against the panes, tapping out a lazy, near-hypnotic rhythm as Rick lay quietly in the dark, refusing to leave the safety of his dreams.

 

He was a little boy again, maybe five—six years old. He was upstairs, relishing the haven his mom and dad’s big king-sized bed provided him, the warm and cozy goose-down quilt pulled up, tucked comfortably underneath his chin. He felt so safe here, so loved.

 

He could hear the unmistakable sound of his dad’s voice, the canned sound of his big booming laugh as it echoed around the living room downstairs, filtering through the hardwood floor of the bedroom. _It’s Saturday,_ he thought, snuggling closer against the pillows, a soft smile spreading on his dry, cracked lips as he recognized the smell of his mom’s butter pecan waffles wafting up the stairs, the aroma of bacon and fresh brewed coffee mingling in the air.

 

After breakfast, just after the sun started to peep up over the hills, he and his dad would load up the tackle boxes and fishing poles in the back of the truck, then head out for a day of trout fishing, something they had done since he was big enough to hold a pole. A heavy white mist would be rising from the river, hanging like a shroud over everything, the tops of the pine trees the only thing visible on the other side of the riverbank. In all the Saturday mornings they’d spent there, they never caught a damn thing, but neither of them ever gave up hope. _“We’ll get ‘em next time, Rick.”_

 

_Rick._

 

_Rick._

 

_Rick—_

 

“Rick! Open your eyes. Open your eyes, sugar.”

 

His eyelids fluttered to the noise above him. Like bees, the words buzzed, needling their way into his ears, pestering him, tormenting him, pulling him away from his dream. “Mmm,” he groaned, his tongue and throat too dry to form an actual word.

 

“I know you can hear me. Look at me. I said look at me!”

 

A loud thump startled his eyes open as the bed shook with a violent jolt. _Oh God,_ he thought, taking in the blurry view of his surroundings. He wasn’t warm and safe in his parents’ bed anymore. He wasn’t enjoying his mom’s waffles. He wasn’t fishing with his dad. Lying on a dirty cot against the wall, he was still naked, his hands still tied, and his head was still throbbing, spinning, aching with each and every vibration of his pulse.

 

“There you are.” Gareth was smiling down at him, his face bathed in that nauseating excess of false humanity, shadows of his unpredictable rage and anger still visible, lingering in the fine lines of his features. “I guess those pills relaxed you a little too much, huh?” he asked, running his fingers through Rick’s short hair, moving down, brushing them across the rough thickness of his two, almost three day old beard before pulling him to a sitting position. “You’ve been asleep for hours, baby. You thirsty?” He twisted the cap on a cold bottle of water, breaking the seal with a noisy crack, holding it against his mouth.

 

Pursing his chapped lips together, Rick turned his head, refusing to drink even though his tongue was the texture of sandpaper, his throat so dry it made an audible click with every attempted swallow.

 

“Suit yourself,” Gareth shrugged, leaning his tall frame against the wall, downing half the water in one go, lowering the bottle with a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Well… ” he paused long enough to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “Maybe you’ll eat something later. I have something _special_ planned for you. But let’s get you stitched up first, sugar.”

 

***

 

Gnawing nervously on the leathery skin of his lower lip, Rick studied Gareth with a wary eye as he pulled a container of dental floss out of his shoebox. Cutting off a long length of the minty, waxed string, he tied one end to the eye of a curved quilting needle, laying it down on the tabletop with a pair of dirty tweezers. When his hands came up, his long skinny fingers suspended in front of his injured forehead, Rick flinched away.

 

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay,” Gareth whispered, pushing his hair away from the gauze dressing he had wrapped around his head as he slept off his drug-induced unconsciousness. “I just need to get rid of this dirty bandage.”

 

By the light of a small desk lamp, Gareth set to work, lifting and peeling the blood-stained fabric away from the deep gash. Rick hissed in pain, a drenching sweat breaking out on his face as he pulled and tugged. The fibers of the bandage was stuck, caked with coagulated blood, adhering itself to the raw, tender flesh like super glue.

 

Gareth pulled out his knife, cutting the excess fabric out of the way, leaving the glued rectangle in place. “You know… ” he pinched the remaining bandage between his finger and thumb, placing his other hand on the back of Rick’s head to hold him in place. “My mama had her own way of dealing with old Band-Aids when it came to me and my brother’s skinned knees and elbows.” His eyes grew dark, his smile deadly. With one swift, unapologetic yank, he ripped the fabric away from his skin.

 

Rick’s ear-piercing scream exploded through the room, ricocheting, pinging off of the concrete walls, the sound likely reaching the ears of every living thing within a two mile radius, a fresh stream of blood pouring over his eye, trickling down his cheek.

 

 _“Shut the fuck up,”_ Gareth seethed, slapping a heavy hand over Rick’s mouth, holding the sound in, reducing it to a muffled, strangulated groan. He looked over his shoulder, staring, watching the doors with a worrisome eye. “Keep it quiet,” he hissed. “Or I _will_ put you out again.”

 

Rick nodded, tears of agony streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the fresh blood, rust-colored rivulets spilling over Gareth’s fingers as he whimpered, his face a ghostly shade of pale.

 

“I’m sorry,” Gareth insisted, removing his hand, pouring the rest of the bottled water slowly over the wound. “I was just trying to make it fast.”

 

Rick was so thirsty—thirsty enough to catch some of the dirty, blood-tinged water on his parched tongue as it streamed over his lips. He stared at the needle on the table, dread knotting his stomach as he thought about what was coming next.

 

“This is gonna hurt without you being numbed,” Gareth warned, wiping his bloody hand on his pants, picking up the arched needle. “I can give you something for pain before I—”

 

“No,” Rick urged, shaking his head, not wanting to be drugged again. “Just—just do it.” With his wrists still bound behind him, he got a white-knuckle grip on the back of the chair, bracing himself for more pain as he took a deep breath, holding it, releasing it in small amounts as Gareth pinched the wound between his fingers. He gasped, catching himself before he made anymore noise as the sharp point of the needle pierced his skin with fire, looping underneath the cut, through the skin on the other side.

 

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Gareth asked, pushing the needle through again and again, the tip of his tongue darting out as he worked, his brow knit in concentration. “We’ll probably have to let your hair grow out a little, help cover up the scar this is gonna leave. A month or two… you probably won’t even be able to see it.” Reaching behind him, he grabbed the excess bandage that he cut off of Rick’s head, wiping away the drops of blood that dripped over his eyelid. “You might not think so now, but you’re gonna love it here. I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

 

Pulling the floss tight, he examined his work, nodding his head in satisfaction before tying off the end. “Not bad,” he crowed, wiping the bloody needle off on his fingers, dropping it down into the dental floss dispenser. “If I _do_ say so myself.” A contented smile breached his face as he slathered the closed wound with antiseptic.

 

Rick raised his head, his face ashen, soaked with sweat and tears, his blue eyes glassy and bloodshot as he stared back at his deranged captor.

 

Gareth’s face slipped, his smile faltering just a bit before falling apart completely. “Don’t you have something to say to me?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest, tilting his head to an angle that added to the dangerous tone in his voice. “I’m bending over backwards here trying to make this relationship work. Dammit!” He slammed his fists against the table causing Rick to jump. “How about a thank you? Or is that just too much to ask?”

 

Rick opened his mouth but closed it just as fast. He shifted in his chair, his bare, sweaty skin sticking to the seat. Again, he opened his mouth to speak, but given Gareth’s current state, he thought better of it. No matter what he said, he knew it wouldn't be the right thing. Except for the sound of his labored breathing, he remained quiet.

 

Without warning, Gareth backhanded him in the face, a stinging pain exploding in his cheek, the taste of his own blood on his lips.

 

“Thank y—” he tried, but he hit him again, slapping his face so hard the chair tipped over, his left arm taking the brunt of the fall, sparing anymore damage to his head but dislocating his shoulder with a loud, painful crack. A dark yellow puddle spread out in front of him in the floor, his bladder, irritated from dehydration, emptying itself as he lay there suffering.

 

“ _Now_ look what you’ve done.” Gareth paced back and forth, wringing his hands, pausing at every turn to look toward the doors. “How could you embarrass me like that? And in front of my _friends_. Don't you want me to be happy?”

 

Rick drew his muscles tight as he stormed toward him, bracing himself for more pain.

 

“You compose yourself young man,” Gareth ordered, speaking in an unfamiliar tone, pointing his finger in Rick’s handprint-reddened face. “Do you hear me? You compose yourself and you clean this mess up. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

 

***

 

Rick sat on the edge of the cot, his anxiety mounting, a hopeless sense of dread filling his stomach as he waited for Gareth to come back. _About an hour,_ he said. He had lost all track of time since he woke up outside. Having been out of it so many times, being hit, being drugged, he wasn’t even sure what day of the week it was anymore.

 

He turned his head, his face a rictus of pain as he tried to assess the damage to his shoulder. It was visibly deformed, bruised and swollen—all of which were probably made worse when he was forced to slide on it across the floor to get his arms over the back of the fallen chair.

 

As he sat there, wondering what kind of hellish torment Negan was going through, he hoped that Gareth was himself when he came back. As bad as he was on his on, he was nothing compared to the—

 

The rattling of keys in the door, the click of the lock—his time alone was up. Just before the door opened, Rick kicked the shirt he had used to clean up the mess in the floor further under the cot, hoping he had cleaned it up well enough. With his hands tied behind him and the injury to his shoulder, the best he could do was mop it up using his foot.

 

“Don’t tell me how to handle this,” Gareth whispered loudly, pushing a noisy cart through the door. “I know what I’m doing, so shut the hell up. Who’s hungry?” he asked, trading his angry whisper in for an exaggerated happy tone, painting a mile-wide smile on his face as he kicked the door shut behind him. “I’ve got something special for my baby.”

 

Rick swallowed hard against his dry throat, the thought of food making his stomach churn. He watched Gareth as he unfolded a white tablecloth, shaking it out, letting it drift down over the tabletop.

 

When he was finished setting the table, he picked up the overturned chair and led Rick by his good arm. Two lit tapered candles flickered their light on the silverware that was laid out on cloth napkins. Gareth pulled the chair out, seating him like he was some kind of gentleman before moving another chair around, sitting down beside of him, pouring them both a glass of red wine.

 

As he pulled the domes off of the plates of food, the smell filled Rick’s nostrils, nauseating him even more, the strong aroma nearly triggering his gag reflex.

 

“I bet you’re starving, aren’t you?” he asked, pushing the asparagus and roasted fingerling potatoes to the side, cutting into Rick’s steak with a knife and fork. “I hope you like it,” he smiled, pressing a generous bite against his lips. “It’s… sort of my specialty.”

 

Rick pulled away, shaking his head. “I’m not hungry,” he insisted, spitting the bitter meat juices off of his lower lip.

 

Gareth dropped the knife and fork onto the plate, releasing an exasperated sigh. “God, why are you so difficult?” He grabbed him by the shoulders, making him cry out hoarsely, turning him back around in his seat. “You’ll eat… or I’ll bring you your husband’s head.” He picked up the forkful of meat, holding it in front of him again. “Don’t make me kill him _now_.”

 

Feeling lost, a deep sense of hopelessness and helplessness settling into his heart, Rick simply lacked the strength to fight it anymore. Opening his mouth, he accepted six or seven bites of food, gulping down the entire glass of wine through a straw.

 

Picking up his own utensils, Gareth dug into his late night dinner with a triumphant smile on his face. “Mmm,” he muttered, his tongue swiping out to catch a dribble of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll say one thing for Pete,” he laughed, covering his full mouth with his fist. “That abusive asshole didn’t do too much for me when he was alive…” He sank his knife into the thick cut of meat again, slicing off an even bigger bite, rich, red blood pooling in his plate, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he chewed slowly. “But damn if he doesn’t melt in your mouth when prepared by the right set of hands.”

 

Rick looked at the plate of food in front of him, then back to Gareth, his stomach roiling as his words replayed in his head. He felt the color drain from his face, the room began to grow dim as it spun around him, beads of perspiration forming on every inch of his body, from his scalp to the soles of his feet. Still seated at the table, the contents of his stomach emptied all over the dishes and white tablecloth.

 

“Goddammit.” Gareth dropped his silverware, wiping his mouth angrily. “I wanted our first date to be special. Wanted everything to be perf—”’

 

“You crazy son of a bitch! You killed Pete? You killed him and you… you made me…” He couldn’t say the words, not without sending his empty stomach into a fit of dry heaves.

 

“I did it for _you_ ,” Gareth said softly, reaching out to rub his shoulder. “Everything _I do,_ I do for you, sweetheart. He hurt you… I made it right.”

 

***

 

Rick closed his eyes as Gareth crouched in front of him, drying his hips and thighs with a musty-smelling bath towel. He had taken him to the other side of a concrete block partition wall. It was small and dark, the only thing back there was a rusty shower head, a small circular grate covering the drain, and what was left of Pete’s body—a bloody, headless, neckless, armless, legless torso, swinging back and forth on a meat hook bolted to the ceiling—nothing left on the bones but a little marbling of muscle.

 

“Now,” Gareth sighed, dropping the damp towel in the floor, kicking it toward an empty corner. “That’s better, isn’t it? Getting all that sick off of you.” Taking a comb out of his back pocket, he detangled Rick’s longer strands of hair, combing it the way _he_ wanted it, smoothing his hand over the shaved areas. “I think we’ll both feel better after a good night's sleep.”

 

Ushering him toward the cot, he cut Rick’s wrists free, his impaired arm falling loosely by his side with a sharp, burning pain. Easing him down, bringing his good arm up above his head, he tied it tightly to the rusty metal bed frame beneath him, making sure the knot was good and tight.

 

Rick sobbed quietly, his features contorted in a pain-filled grimace as his injured shoulder met the bare, stale-smelling mattress, pushing his disjointed bone forward.

 

Gareth pulled the tattered green blanket up over him, humming a somber tune under his breath as he walked back toward the table, turning the desk lamp off by its cord switch, plunging the cold tomb-like room into total darkness.

 

Rick couldn’t see a thing, the feeling of dread and panic gripping his heart, his lungs as he lay there in the dark, holding his breath, waiting to hear the door open and close as Gareth left for the night. But he heard nothing, his every sense tense in expectation as he strained his eyes, desperate to see through the suffocating blackness.

 

His heart began to thunder in his chest as the metallic hiss of a zipper being pulled down rang through his ears, his blood pounding in his head as the small cot dipped and creaked with Gareth’s weight, his shoes hitting the floor, the rustling sound of of his jeans and socks being stripped away, his shirt leaving his body with a faint whisper.

 

“Please,” he begged, feeling a rush of cool air as the blanket lifted, the springs sagging again as Gareth slithered into bed with him, forcing his legs apart as he climbed on top of him. “Get off of me!” he screamed, feeling his heated length pressing against his core, turning his head, unable to stomach the smell of Pete’s cooked flesh on his breath.

 

Lifting his left arm at the elbow, he flattened his hand on Gareth’s chest, struggling to hold him back with it, using all of the strength in his forearm to push him off. But without the use of his shoulder, it was no use. “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded, using his short fingernails to claw at him, stabbing him with them, trying desperately to free his right hand from the restraint.  

 

“I’ve waited long enough to get what I want,” Gareth hissed, spitting his words angrily as he held Rick down by his injured shoulder, digging his thumb under the dislocated joint. “He always finds a way to stop me,” he growled, bearing down on his arm until he cried out in pain. “But not this time,” he promised, leaning down to kiss his face, his teeth scraping painfully over his cheek, sinking them into his flesh, punishing him for marking him up with his nails. “I _will_ have you.”

 

Rick listened as Gareth spit several times, feeling his hand slip down between their bodies. “Stop!” he screamed as his wet fingers pushed past his resistance, taking his mouth with his tongue as two digits thrust in and out of him, his saliva dripping from his body as he lined his cock up to his opening, ready to penetrate him. “Negan!”

 

Rick’s hearing was reduced to a deafening, high-pitched whistle as a fiery blast exploded beside the bed. Gareth’s weight collapsed on top of him, warm liquid spilling out, running over his face and neck, the smell sweet and cloying, coppery.

 

A bright fluorescent light came on above the bed as Rick’s right arm was cut free. He screamed in horror as he pushed the dead weight upward, taking in the destruction. The left side of Gareth’s skull had been completely blown away, his blood and brains were splattered all over the wall, his eyes open wide and sightless.

 

As his blood continued to drain from the massive damage to his head, Rick struggled, fighting his way out from under him, the front of his body completely drenched in red. Turning around, he expected to see Negan and half of the Atlanta PD standing behind him, but instead he was met with the woman he’d seen in Gareth’s childhood pictures. Slightly older now, her red hair streaked with strands of silver, her posture no longer ramrod straight.

 

Still smoking, the high-powered night scope rifle lay at her slipper-clad feet, a black, leather-bound Bible clutched against her chest, her eyes closed tightly as she recited the same passage over and over and over under her breath.

 

“Thank you,” Rick said weakly, approaching the woman cautiously, his right hand extended out to her. “Thank you for helping me.”

 

“Stop!” she shouted, thrusting her Bible out toward him, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t you come near me,” she ordered, fear clearly written all over her face, but standing her ground behind the word of God. “I smell the devil on you, boy.”

 

“Ma’am,” Rick whispered, hot tears running through the fresh blood on his face. “This man,” he gestured to the body still bleeding on the cot. “He’s your son, isn’t he? He tried to rape me. He kidnapped me. He has my husband tied up somewhere in this house. I need to find him. Can you help me?”

 

“Your husband?” she questioned, her eyes icy hard with anger. “Do not be deceived!” she preached, thumping her Bible with a closed fist. “Men who have sex with men shall not inherit the kingdom of God!” She lunged at him, striking him across the face with the heavy book in her hands. “Say it!” she demanded, looking down at Rick as he sat crumpled in the floor, bleeding heavily from his nose and lip. “Men who have sex with men shall not inherit the kingdom of God! Say it, boy. Say it!” She lifted her Bible again, hitting him with all of her strength across the stitched wound on his forehead.

 

Dizzy and disoriented, Rick pushed himself up to his knees, shielding his face and head with his right arm.

 

“If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death. Their blood will be on their own heads.” Reaching down, she picked up the rifle from the floor, looking toward the corpse on the bed. “I should have sent him to hell when I sent Alex. They were both poisoned… just like you. I tried to help them. Tried to help them both find Jesus. But they were addicted to perversion, living their lives in sin.”

 

Rick listened, keeping his eye on the firearm in her hands as she clutched her Bible under her arm, moving back and forth in the floor, dodging the barrel as she paced angrily in front of him.

 

“I had to end it!” she cried, trembling as she screamed, the rifle shaking in her hands. “God forgive me!” Tears streamed down her face and neck, dripping from the little gold cross she wore around her neck. “I had to stop my sons from rejecting God. Stop them from following the path of Satan.”

 

“Please,” Rick begged, slowly realizing the woman had no intentions of helping him find Negan. No intentions of letting either of them go. “Don’t do this. No one else has to die here tonight. Just—just put the gun down. Please.”

 

“She lifted her rifle, her Bible falling to the ground as she took aim at his head. “Just like I have to stop you.”

 

“Please just let me see him,” he pleaded, sobbing helplessly between each word. “Just let me tell him I love him… one more time.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Rick looked up just as Negan fired his gun at Gareth’s mother, dropping her to the ground like a ton of bricks, the darkness of the blood spreading over her shirt like india ink from the bullet hole he put in her back.

 

Abraham rushed to the woman in the floor, securing the weapon as Hershel checked the lifeless body on the cot. Negan ran to Rick.

 

“Baby?” He pulled him to his feet, his eyes taking in the immense amount of blood saturating his upper body, checking him meticulously for wounds. “Are you okay?”

 

Rick lifted his head, lines of weariness showing around his dark-ringed eyes and downturned mouth, blue eyes that once sparkled with life and emotion, now taking on more of a washed out gray hue, heavy with defeat and failure. “No I’m not,” he answered hoarsely, wrapping his good arm around Negan, holding onto him for dear life. 

 

Negan felt his grip weaken, catching him as he collapsed in his arms. “Abraham! Get some fucking help here! Do it now!”


End file.
